


Draco Malfoy and the Truth of the Heart

by DracoWillHearAboutThis



Series: Do It All Over Again [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of the War, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical fights, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Established Relationship, Fear of loss, Horcrux Hunting, M/M, Marriage Proposal, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Series Retold, Suicide Attempt under influence of magic, Time Travel, Use of Unforgivable Curses, canonical character deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 128,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoWillHearAboutThis/pseuds/DracoWillHearAboutThis
Summary: Dumbledore, throughout his long, colourful life, had made a lot of dubious decisions, but the choice to send four emotionally constipated teenagers on a Horcrux hunt across the country to save the Wizarding World might have easily taken the cake.Or: The Camping Trip From Hell, and everything that followed after.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley - Relationship, Minor Ginny Weasley/OC, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley - Relationship, Minor Luna Lovegood/OC, Minor Viktor Krum/OC, minor OC relationships, minor Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks - Relationship
Series: Do It All Over Again [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/853760
Comments: 2919
Kudos: 2997
Collections: Harry Potter - The Best (by Peftasteria)





	1. To Win A War Quickly Takes Long Preparation

**Author's Note:**

> So... I'm back with the seventh and final installment! Omg did it take long to put in all characters and tags. Damn. I do hope I didn't forget anything.
> 
> On that note, please read the tags especially carefully. There are triggers in this installment. I am going to warn before chapters that are especially dark, but please be prepared before you proceed reading. This won't be a swift ride. 
> 
> Before we start, I also want to express my sincere gratitude for all the wonderful comments I received regarding the last chapter of the 6th installment. They mean more to me than I can express and I feel my answers - which I am still not through with, I am sorry for all the unanswered comments - have been terribly inadequate. Please know that they gave me a lot of strength, moved me to tears, made me laugh and unlocked something inside of me that had been buried in the past couple of weeks/months. I've been finding my way back to the story bit by bit in the past two weeks, and it's all thanks to your wonderful response. Please believe me when I say that I wasn't fishing for such an overwhelming wave of support - my aim had been to make the negativity stop and caution people against my condition. I did not expect *this*, but it really helped, and all I can say is thank you. 
> 
> I hope you will enjoy the seventh installment as much as you did the last ones, despite the noticably darker touch it will have. You will note, due to the tags, that it deals with a lot of psychological issues. I want to stress that this is not a decision I made due to my own condition. It's a funny story, actually - or not, depending on the angle - I had penned the course of this story out for years, long before I myself had developed any serious issues. It was only lately that close friends who read the story tipped me off, telling me that my characters showed similarities to some of my own behaviour - which was something I had never intended, and blew my mind. So, long story short, yes, depression is adressed, yes, I am suffering from depression, but none of the characters are suffering from depression because *I* do and I need to write about it. It's something that was earnestly weaved into the story long before I even dealt with such problems. 
> 
> Now, enough chitchat. Please enjoy the first chapter!!

There was a knock on Draco’s door. He hastily rolled up his enchanted parchment and dropped it onto the bedside table before propping himself up on his elbows. 

“You can come in,” he called. 

The door opened just enough to reveal his cousin Dora’s head. She smiled at him cheerfully, her Slytherin-green curly hair unexpectedly stylish, and Draco was about to get into a sitting position but she stopped him with a chuckle.

“Don’t bother, just wanted to tell ya we’re leavin’, Remus and I.”

“Sure,” Draco grinned, stretching back out again. “Have fun, newlyweds.”

Dora grimaced at him, her face adorably pink, and it made Draco laugh. Her and Lupin had tied the knot in a shotgun wedding only last week. It had been a small affair with only the closest relatives and friends present, and Draco was sure that the speed of the events was entirely motivated by the upcoming war. Not that he could blame his cousin and her now-husband - with Dumbledore’s funeral still fresh on their minds, treasuring the time you had with the people you loved had suddenly become something of a priority. And anyway, Dora and Lupin seemed happy together, even though Draco could tell that Lupin still worried a lot. It would get better with time, Dora had assured him. Draco was unsure, but he wanted to believe her. 

“Stop being cheeky, you,” she scolded, though she was snorting out laughter through her words. “He used to be your teacher, remember?”

“And you never made sex jokes about your teachers?” Draco challenged. “Don’t be a hypocrite, Dora.”

“Most Hogwarts teachers don’t exactly inspire sex jokes,” she groaned, shuddering. “At least in my days.”

“Fair enough,” Draco allowed. “We got all the centaurs and Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Winners as teachers, not you.”

She laughed, shaking her head and starting to back out of the door.

“If you made sex jokes about Lockhart, I am very worried about you, Draco Malfoy.”

“Not me,” he said innocently, “you can have a word with Hermione, though. She drew hearts with his name into her notebooks.”

She cackled as she closed the door. Draco grinned as he reached towards the bedside table to pick up the enchanted parchment that he had abandoned earlier, unrolling it once more and returning to reading it. 

_ Dear Draco, _

_ I’m glad to hear about Lupin and Tonks. They both deserve all the happiness they can get. Please give them my regards, and tell them that I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there for the wedding. _

_ Kingsley and Mr Weasley were here earlier this afternoon to talk to the Dursleys about going into hiding. They’re still not very enthusiastic, as you can imagine. They seem to have taken more to Kingsley than to Mr Weasley - maybe predictably, after Fred and George fed Dudley that candy that summer of our fourth year - but I do think they’ll take lots more convincing. It’s gonna be a tiring couple of weeks.  _

_ Have you read Skeeter’s interview in the prophet? I know it’s Skeeter and I know not to trust a word she says, but I’m unsure what to think. I feel like there’s so much I didn’t know about Dumbledore, you know?  _

_ I miss you. I can’t wait to see you again. _

_ Love, Harry _

Draco frowned at the letter before picking up one of the self-inking quills from the twin’s shop and starting to pen out a response.

_ Dear Harry, _

_ I miss you, too. It sucks that you’re once again stuck at this house, but we know it’s not for much longer. Hold on.  _

_ I can imagine that your aunt and uncle aren’t thrilled but, well, bugger for them. Life’s not fair. If they want to stay alive, they’d better listen to the Order. My compassion for them is limited after the way they’ve mistreated you for your entire life.  _

_ I read Skeeter’s interview. She’s a slug and whatever information she has, she got it underhanded and she twisted it to look as bad as possible. I understand your worries, though - you only met Dumbledore towards the end of his life, and he’s always been a very private person. You only shared a small time frame with him, and you’ve never really gotten much information about his earlier life. I’m not sure if that means you didn’t know him, though. You don’t tell me everything about what happened before we met, and I don’t tell you every detail about my childhood at the Manor, either. Still, we  _ know  _ each other, don’t we? Secrets are natural. Sometimes it doesn’t have to mean that a person doesn’t trust you enough to tell you about those events. Sometimes not telling can have other reasons.  _

_ So please don’t let this pull you down too much. You have enough to worry about without this. _

_ Love, Draco _

Draco had barely written the last word when there was another knock on his door.

“Looks like I’m popular tonight,” he muttered, rolling up his parchment and dropping both it and the quill back onto the bedside table. “Yes?” he called, a little louder.

The door opened to reveal, much to his surprise, a bushy-haired, sombre-faced Hermione. Draco scrambled to sit up, blinking. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I wasn’t expecting you!”

“I arrived at the Burrow this afternoon,” she told him, stepping into the room and closing the door behind herself. “I felt like seeing you, so I flooed over. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Draco nodded, patting the free spot on the bed beside him. As she sat down, Draco scanned her face, noting that her eyes were red and bloodshot. “Are you all right?” he asked tentatively. 

She gulped, her only response a helpless shrug. Draco waited, granting her some time to gather herself, and when she finally spoke, her voice was soft and trembling.

“I altered my parents' memories,” she told him, not meeting his eyes. “They… d-don’t remember h-having a daughter. I made them think their heart’s desire is to leave the country and move to Australia, so… that’s what they’re going to do. They’ll be out of harm’s way, like that.”

“Oh, Hermione,” Draco whispered, his heart heavy. “I’m so sorry.” 

She looked at him then, eyes swimming in fresh tears, and he reached out to pull her into a tight hug. His friend melted into the comfort he offered, crying into his shoulder for a long time, and Draco patiently stroked her curls and let the flood ebb away. When she resurfaced, at long last, furiously rubbing at her cheeks, Draco still hadn’t said a word, because what was there to say? What did you say to your friend when they had just separated from their family to keep them safe? 

So instead of speaking, Draco procured a tissue for Hermione, which she took with a grateful smile, cleaning her face. She was the one to break their silence, eventually.

“I’m going to track them down, once the war is over,” she told him, her voice still wobbly.

“Of course you will,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

“The spell should be reversible,” she muttered. “I put some research into it before casting. I’m sure I can do it.”

“If anyone can, it’s you,” Draco smiled. “And if you fail, there are trained wizards at St. Mungo’s with that field as a speciality. You can always consult them.”

“You’re right,” she nodded.

“It will be fine,” he ensured her. “Don’t worry. You did the right thing.”

“Thank you,” she sighed. “I really needed to hear that.”

Draco nodded, pulling her into his side again. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder and they fell back into a comfortable silence. Only after a couple of minutes did she ask: “Have you heard from Harry?”

“Daily,” he nodded. “He’s… struggling with Dumbledore’s death, to be honest. But he’s safe and healthy.”

“I expected him to be struggling,” Hermione admitted, her voice sad. “First Sirius, now Dumbledore… Harry always seems to be losing the people he grows attached to, doesn’t he?”

“All the more reason for us to look out for him,” Draco shrugged. “We’ll have to be his support system.”

“Well, let’s be honest - you’ve been a major part of his support system for about six years now,” she muttered. “Ron and I try our best, but you’re the main pillar here. We all know it.”

Draco pressed down on the urge to argue with her, knowing that she wouldn’t hear a word that would diminish himself and his own value towards Harry. So instead, he changed the subject.

“Mrs Weasley isn’t exactly thrilled about our plans to drop out of school,” he said, making Hermione look up at him wearily. 

“Oh?” she enquired. “She didn’t say anything about it earlier, but that might be because I was too worked up.”

“Yeah,” Draco grimaced. “She’s been prodding me and Weasley all summer about what exactly we plan to do once we drop out. She even had words with Mother about it.”

“What did your mother say?” Hermione asked, biting her lip.

“That it’s our business and that if she thinks she can stop me from following Harry anywhere, she’s obviously never met me,” Draco snorted. “For some reason, that didn’t go over all too well.”

“So, your mother is really okay with us going Horcrux hunting?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“Well, she doesn’t know that’s what we’re doing, of course,” Draco frowned. “But I explained to her that Harry’s got a mission from Dumbledore and I’ll accompany him, and while she was not exactly pleased with the prospect of me putting myself in danger, she knew she wouldn’t be able to change my mind. There’s also the fact that, once full-on war breaks out, she will have to go into hiding, and she knows there’s no way I would have accompanied her into whichever safe haven she chose to wait things out. Mother is a realist, you see. She knows how to pick her battles.”

“Well,” Hermione sighed, making a face. “Mrs Weasley isn’t. If she’s anything, she’s pig-headed.”

“Runs in the family,” Draco snorted, smiling unrepentantly when Hermione sent him a half-hearted glare. “Anyway, consider yourself warned. She will nag at you, try to get our real mission out of you and try to change your mind.”

“Right,” Hermione nodded. “I’ll be on my toes.” She bit her lip, looking thoughtful before she added: “Talking about our mission, I need you to pack what you’re going to take, in case we need to take off quickly.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded. 

“I put an undetectable extension charm on a purse I’ve got at the Burrow,” she told him. “I’ll put everything you give me in there so we can transport it back and forth without issue.”

“Smart,” Draco complimented. “I love it.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “I’ve also got a couple of books I want you to have a look at. I’ll give them to you tomorrow. They’re about Horcruxes.”

“How in Merlin’s name did you get your hand on those?” Draco asked, stunned.

“I… summoned them after Dumbledore’s death,” Hermione admitted sheepishly. “They must have been in his office? And they came flying through the window. I don’t think he would have minded, do you? Or he’d have protected them better?”

“Definitely not,” Draco scoffed. “He wanted us to destroy them, so he should sure as hell give us the info on how to do it! Did you find anything?” 

“There’s some information in a couple of chapters, but I want your opinion on how exactly to interpret it,” she said.

“Okay,” Draco nodded. “Bring them over, and I’ll read through them as quickly as I can.”

“I will,” Hermione nodded. “Also… There was something else I wanted to discuss with you before Harry arrived.”

“Okay,” Draco frowned. “And what’s that?”

“Godric’s Hollow,” she pointed out. “I know Harry wants to go there, and I understand why, but I think it’s dangerous, Draco.”

Draco grimaced, glancing at the parchment resting on his bedside table. The handle had already turned golden again in notification of a new message. This had already occurred to him, and he was unsurprised that Hermione was addressing the issue. He knew, though, how much going meant to Harry. 

“I think Voldemort will be expecting Harry to go there,” Hermione pressed, staring him down. “It might be a trap.”

“I know,” Draco sighed. “But I don’t think Harry cares, Hermione.”

“Well, he  _ should _ care,” Hermione argued. “I understand why he wants to go, but it’s not worth risking his life over.”

“I agree,” Draco muttered. “It’s just… you’ve said it. He’s lost so many people. He lost Dumbledore, Sirius, his parents… And he’s never been to their graves, not once. If that’s what he needs to gather the strength to do what needs to be done -”

“Under normal circumstances, I’d move heaven and hell to grand it to him,” Hermione promised, her voice soft. “But Draco, this is not normal circumstances. This is war, and being at the wrong place at the wrong time can mean death, for all of us. Do we really want to risk that?”

Draco sighed and shook his head. “No,” he agreed. “Of course we don’t. You’re right.”

“I’m glad you see it my way,” she smiled tentatively. “Because we both know I’ll need you if I’m going to convince Harry.”

“That’s going to be fun,” Draco muttered, his chest tight at the prospect. 

“We’ll do it together,” Hermione promised. “It’s for the best, Draco.”

Draco nodded. Hermione reached out to entwine their fingers, squeezing once in unspoken comfort. 

Draco decided it was best to convince Harry of the dangers they would probably face when visiting Godric’s Hollow face to face. Draco knew that they’d always communicated best when they could look at and touch each other, and he could feel the strain on Harry’s nerves with each message they exchanged as it was. Better to not spring a discussion like that at him when he had the opportunity to put the parchment away and effectively run from it. 

And it wasn’t long until they would pick Harry up from his confinement, anyway. The Order was already planning Harry’s transport, comparing the benefits of different strategies and weighing of their risks. Sometimes Dora would let something slip towards Draco - she’d play it off as an accident in front of her husband, but they both knew she honestly wanted his opinion, which Draco was all too happy to give. 

While the Order prepared for the rescue mission, Draco and Hermione prepared for the Horcrux hunt. Draco had already packed a selection of clothes he deemed practical for travel plus books and devices they might have a use for. Hermione had received them eagerly and put them away into her enchanted beaded back, which Draco had inspected in amazement when she had shown it to him. 

Draco had also read through the books on Horcruxes Hermione had handed him, and they had determined that very few substances available were indeed destructive enough to qualify as a suitable weapon against them. 

“We have to put it beyond magical repair,” Draco muttered, frowning as he clutched the book to keep it propped up against his legs, Hermione leaning against his side to reread the relevant paragraph. They had withdrawn into Draco’s room at Andromeda’s place - they had found it was almost impossible to have privacy at the Burrow nowadays, with the ongoing wedding preparations and Mrs Weasley breathing down their necks, determined not to leave them to their own devices lest they furthered their plans to leave. “And since our kind is obsessed with finding ways to fix stuff, there’s little that we don’t somehow have a magical solution for. Like the Killing Curse, but we can’t apply that to an object.”

“But Harry destroyed a Horcrux before,” Hermione reminded him. “The diary, with a Basilisk fang.”

“Right,” Draco muttered. “Basilisk venom would do it, I guess. It’s properly destructive. But we don’t have any of that, do we?”

“Well, no,” Hermione sighed. “Do you have any other clues on substances that might be equally suitable?”

“Well, there are other creatures, but that doesn’t exactly help us, either… There’s also fiendfyre, but I’m not stupid enough to start one.” Hermione shuddered, obviously agreeing with that assessment. “I’m -” Draco frowned, biting his lip. “I’m not sure, but… I read this thing about Arithmancists creating a temporary magical void that turns destructive once the magic rushes back inside. Like the sudden pressure cracks whatever you put into the void. It might be enough to break a Horcrux because it was raw magic that broke it in the first place.”

“I never heard about that,” Hermione muttered, eyes alight. “Can you dig it up again?”

“I can try,” Draco nodded. “I think it was some journal at the Manor, but I think I have notes somewhere…”

So Draco spent the remaining time until Harry’s arrival researching possible ways to destroy Horcruxes. He even enlisted Dobby for help, who was all too glad to be of service, going through the Hogwarts library behind Madam Pince’s back and bringing him back copies of relevant sources. It was tedious work, though, lots of theory and little concrete progress, as Arithmancy tended to be. 

As Harry’s birthday finally drew closer, though, the plans for Harry’s retrieval from his Muggle hovel finalised, and Draco’s focus shifted. The Order had lain a false trail through the Ministry that Harry was going to get picked up the day before his birthday, but they had really put together a quite different strategy: Five days before Harry was to turn seventeen, on July 27th, they’d all collectively fly to Little Whinging, Surrey. ‘They all’ included him, Hermione and Ron, the Weasley twins and Bill, Fleur, Dora and Lupin, Mr Weasley, Hagrid, Kingsley and Mad-Eye Moody. The original plan had been to have Moody take Harry by side-along Apparition, but that had run into thin air when Pius Thicknesse had gone over to the Dark Lord’s side and had made it a punishable offence to connect Number 4 Privet Drive to the Floo Network, place a Portkey there or Apparate in or out. So they had eventually come up with something more complicated, something that required that many people to be present for the operation. They were going to leave the house in seven individual pairs, and each of them would have a polyjuiced Harry amongst them, save Hagrid, who would guard the real Harry. They would all take off in different directions, with different means of transport, to different safe houses the Order had prepared, and throw the Death Eaters that were sure to be waiting for them off their track. After all, with seven Harry Potters taking off into the air before them, how were they to tell which one was the real one? 

Draco could see the flaws in their plan, of course, and he knew that Harry would scream bloody murder as soon as it was presented to him. He hated the idea of other people putting themselves into danger for him, especially after what had happened in June - Draco could tell from his messages that the whole thing was still haunting him. And now, having five of his friends and his  _ boyfriend _ pretend to be him while people were out there trying to murder him... Yeah, Harry was not going to like that at all. 

But he was going to have to swallow it, and Draco was going to help as best as he could. Hermione and the others had made it very clear that this was part of his job that night. 

They were to meet on a playground just outside Privet Drive under the cover of the darkness and under Disillusionment Charms. Most of them Apparated there, but Kingsley and Hagrid arrived with alternate transports, namely Thestrals and Sirius’ old bike. They’d still timed their arrival perfectly, and just as Hagrid killed his engine, the last party appeared at his side (Fred and George). They then mounted their respective brooms, bikes or Thestrals and flew the rest of the way to the house of Harry’s aunt and uncle, landing in the backyard. Harry must have heard the sound of Hagrid’s engine because just as they landed, he tore open the back door, stepping outside with wide eyes. 

Hermione stood closest to him, just having dismounted from the Thestral she shared with Kingsley, and she flung herself at him with a fierceness that made him stagger. He was soon surrounded by people, beaming at everyone and exchanging greetings, but as soon as his eyes landed on Draco, the smile died, replaced by an expression of such intense longing that it made Draco feel unsteady. Before Draco could even open his mouth to call out to him, Harry had crossed the distance between them with quick, swift steps and pulled Draco against him, catching their lips in an urgent kiss that took Draco’s breath away. 

He heard the Weasley twins cackle. Weasley groaned. Lupin cleared his throat, though he sounded amused. Moody, though, was far less patient with their little romantic display.

“Potter, this is not some trashy knut novel the female student population at Hogwarts hides underneath their beds, this is  _ war  _ and we have to get undercover before anyone sees us.”

Draco couldn’t help but grin as he pulled away, smiling fondly at Harry’s clear embarrassment. “You can kiss me all you want once we’ve got you safely back at the Burrow,” Draco whispered, pressing another chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away. “Now, let’s go before Moody sends me away for being a distraction.”

They made their way into the house one by one, Harry directing them through the living room and into the kitchen. Draco looked at the decor in distaste, gingerly leaning against an empty counter. He was unsure if this was how all Muggles decorated their homes or if Harry’s relatives had a particularly bad taste, but he did not care for their interior style. Then again, he did not care for Harry’s relatives, so it was probably their fault.

Said relatives had, thankfully, been moved from their home earlier this evening to a safe destination and were now guarded by Order members Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle. It was a good thing that they weren’t around for this, honestly. Had Draco come face to face with them now, properly, for the first time ever, he was unsure what he would have done. 

“I wasn’t expecting this many of you!” Harry exclaimed, looking into the round enquiringly. 

“Change of plan,” Moody shrugged, proceeding to explain the Pius Thicknesse situation and why they’d had to abandon the side-along Apparition. He then proceeded to lay out their new plan for him, bit by bit, and Draco watched Harry as he did, waiting for the realisation of what was going to happen to settle with his boyfriend. 

“You’ll be flying to Tonks’ parents’. Once you’re within the boundaries of the protective enchantments we’ve put on their house, you’ll be able to use a Portkey to The Burrow. Any questions?” 

“Er - yes,” Harry said, eyebrows raised, and Draco braced himself. “Maybe they won’t know which of the twelve secure houses I’m heading for at first, but won’t it be sort of obvious once -” he held in, glancing at the round to count before continuing, “fourteen of us fly off towards Tonks’ parents?”

“Ah,” Moody said. “I forgot to mention the key point. Fourteen of us won’t be flying to Tonks’ parents. There will be seven Harry Potters moving through the skies tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house.”

And there they had it. Moody withdrew a flask of Polyjuice Potion from his cloak and Harry shook his head, face pale and eyes wide. 

“No!” he called. “No way!”

“Harry,” Draco sighed, turning to him and reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Please calm down and listen.”

“No, I’m  _ not _ going to let you talk me into risking your life to save mine, and everyone else’s along the way,” Harry hissed angrily, withdrawing from his touch as if it burned him. “I know you have some kind of - of martyr complex or whatever -”

“Look who’s talking,” Draco rolled his eyes. 

“I told you he was going to react this way,” Hermione muttered in the background.

“- because this is the first time Draco, or any of us, for that matter, have risked our lives for him,” Weasley grumbled. 

“Yes, well, I think that’s exactly the problem,” Hermione sighed, and Draco threw her an impatient look, which made her fall silent, at last. Then, he turned back to Harry.

“Okay, Harry, real talk,” Draco began, forcing his voice to stay gentle while choosing his words so that they would deliver the message in a clear and efficient way. “We’ve been backed into a corner, and our choices are limited. This is the best we could come up with. Everyone here is off age, and everyone cares about you. We know what we’re doing.”

“You can’t do it if I don’t cooperate,” Harry snapped, a stubborn glint to his eyes. “You need me to give you some hair.”

“Oh, Harry,” Draco snorted, shaking his head. “You  _ really _ should have thought twice before dating a Slytherin.”

“Excuse me?” Harry ground out, eyebrows raised. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?!”

“What I’m saying, Harry -” Draco replied, voice smooth and grey eyes locked on stubborn, if now slightly disconcerted green ones. He took a step closer to him, crowding Harry’s personal space, and he could tell that it ruffled his boyfriend’s feathers. “- is that in all these years you’ve known me, you might have forgotten why I was sorted into my house. When I have someone to protect, Harry, I don’t play by the rules. I don’t take no for an answer. So you can shout up a storm, I don’t care. We’re going to do this. End of discussion.”

And with that, Draco used their proximity and Harry’s distraction to reach up and pluck a couple of hairs from a spot just behind his ear. Harry snarled, eyes wide, but Draco did not wait to listen to his complaints. He had already turned around and stepped towards Moody, who had uncapped the flask of Polyjuice potion and held it out for him to drop the hairs into it. 

“Much obliged, Mr Malfoy,” Moody nodded his head with the ghost of a smile. The potion had begun to smoke as soon as the hairs had been added and was now changing colour, from its prior mud-like state to a clear, bright gold.

“Oh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry,” Hermione exclaimed, but quickly amended, at Weasley’s raised eyebrow and Harry’s unimpressed expression, “oh, you know what I mean - Goyle’s potion looked like bogies.”

“Right, then - fake Potters line up over here, please,” said Moody. 

Draco threw a quick glance over his shoulder at Harry, but the other one was pointedly not looking in his direction. Instead, he glared at Moody as Weasley, Hermione, Fred, George and Fleur lined up, and Draco sighed quietly as he joined them. Moody was filling the potion into what looked like six shot glasses, and each of them was handed one.

“Altogether, then…” Fred shrugged, motioning as if to toast before lifting the glass to his lips. The other five followed his example. 

The first taste of the potion was not bad, as Draco had expected - on the contrary, it tasted as the Amortentia potion had smelled to him. But then, his skin started to crawl and his bones seemed to tingle and he gasped, closing his eyes. He felt violently sick but nothing was coming up - he felt his extremities shrinking down, though his torso and shoulders seemed to widen. His face felt strange, like a thousand tiny insects were crawling beneath his skin, and then, all of a sudden, everything stopped. He opened his eyes again and blinked when the world around him was blurry and unfocused. 

Somewhere next to him, Fred and George said, in Harry’s voice: “Wow, we’re identical!”

“I dunno, though, I think I’m still better-looking,” one of them argued.

“Bah,” Fleur shuddered, directly at Draco’s side, “Bill, don’t look at me - I’m ‘ideous.”

“Hey,” Draco said automatically, offended for his boyfriend’s sake. “Careful, there.”

“Those whose clothes are a bit roomy, I’ve got smaller here,” Moody announced, indicating the first of two sacks he was holding up into the air. “And vice versa. Don’t forget the glasses, there are six pairs in the pocket.”

“As if we’d forget,” Draco muttered. “We’d fly into a tree without them.”

“And when you’re dressed, there’s luggage in the other sack,” Moody finished, ignoring Draco’s comment. He set the sacks down for all of them to have their go at them, which they promptly did. The first thing Draco did was getting his hands on a pair of glasses and putting them on, sighing in relief when the world around him became clear again.

“Thank Merlin,” he groaned, surprised to find the real Harry standing at his side, watching the scene in front of him with an expression of absent-minded horror. “You never mentioned that you were actually  _ blind.  _ When the war is over, we’re having your eyesight magically corrected, do you hear me?”

“All right,” Harry shrugged, eyes still on the other Harry Potters in front of them, who were quite carelessly undressing, and Draco froze, flushing as he took in his boyfriend’s body in various states of undress.

“Hey!” he called indignantly. “Could you - I don’t know - show a little more respect for Harry’s privacy or something? Would you like him to parade  _ your  _ body around in public like that?” 

“Oh, Malfoy, get a grip and get dressed,” Moody snapped, but at least Hermione looked a little bit abashed, and Harry glanced at him with a grateful smile, the earlier coldness gone from his expression. 

“Here, let me hold this,” he offered, taking the clothes Draco was supposed to change into from Draco’s hands so he could focus on changing out of his own first. 

“Thanks,” Draco muttered, hurriedly unbuttoning his white dress shirt, decidedly not looking at himself as he did. It would be weird, getting aroused by the body he was currently occupying while changing his clothes - not to mention, inconvenient, considering what they had to do in a couple of minutes. 

He shrugged out of his shirt and into Harry’s T-shirt - which was a copy of one Draco had given him for his birthday last year, so it fit him snugly - before shimmying out of his now too long trousers and putting on Harry’s comfortably worn jeans. Putting on Harry’s trainers was a weird sensation - he himself didn’t own any shoe wear like that - but his own black leather shoes were now two numbers too large for his feet, so there was no question of wearing them. Not to mention it would probably give him away. 

When he straightened himself up again, Harry was frowning at him, looking decidedly unhappy. “This is so weird,” he mumbled.

“Good to know it’s not a kink of yours,” Draco snorted, and Harry’s eyes widened in horror.

“Discussing the important questions, I see,” one of the Weasley twins commented from across the room, already in full Harry-wear. 

“Shut it,” Draco rolled his eyes, reaching for the second sack and pulling out the last duplicate of Harry’s luggage and a cage with a stuffed snowy owl that looked like Hedwig. Draco threw a quick look at the real Hedwig across the room next to Harry’s actual luggage. She had puffed up her feathers at the sight of her doppelgängers, apparently displeased. 

“Good,” Moody said, calling everyone’s attention upon him again. “The pairs will be as follows: Ron will be with me, by broom -” Weasley made a face, but did not argue, “Arthur and Fred -”

“I’m George,” the addressed twin scowled. “Can’t you even tell us apart when we’re Harry?”

“Sorry, George -”

“I’m only yanking your wand, I’m Fred really -”

“Enough messing around! The other one - George or Fred or whoever - you’re with Remus. All by broom. Miss Delacour -”

“I’m taking Fleur on Thestral,” Bill cut in. “She’s not that fond of brooms.” 

Fleur walked over to him with a dreamy look on his face, one that had never crossed Harry’s face even when he looked at Draco and it made him recoil. 

“Miss Granger with Kingsley, again by Thestral -”

“Which leaves you and me, Draco!” Dora smiled, appearing at his side and slinging an arm around his shoulder - which was far easier for her now that he was not a whole head taller than her. Draco grinned at her, quite pleased with the arrangement.

“An’ you’re with me, Harry. That all righ’?” Hagrid asked Harry anxiously. “We’ll be on bike, brooms an Thestrals can’t take me weight, see. ‘Not a lot o’ room on the seat with me on it, though, so you’ll be in the sidecar.”

“That’s great,” Harry said, though Draco could tell that he wasn’t very enthusiastic.

“We think the Death Eaters will expect you to be on a broom,” Moody explained. “Snape’s had plenty of time to tell them everything about you he’s never mentioned before, so if we do run into any Death Eaters, we’re betting they’ll choose one of the Potters who look at home on a broomstick.”

Harry glanced at Draco at that, looking more than a little troubled with that reasoning, and Draco reached out to entwine their fingers, squeezing his hand. It did nothing to vanquish the worry in his eyes. 

“All right then,” Moody said, tying up the sack with everyone’s clothes in it and leading the way back to the door. Draco reluctantly let go of Harry’s hand to follow. “I make it three minutes before we need to leave. No point locking the back door, it won’t keep the Death Eaters out when they come looking… Come on…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for today... part 2 of Harry's transport mission in 2 week's time, until further notice! :)


	2. Guilt and Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! 
> 
> I hope you're doing okay, in the midst of all the chaos, and that everyone is healthy. I hope this update cheers up all of you who are stuck at home like me and suffering from it! Many people forget that social distancing and self-isolating, as well as the whole social paranoia that is in the air atm, are difficult for people who are already suffering from mental conditions, so please take care of yourselves! 
> 
> This chapter is taking off where the last one stopped. I hope you'll enjoy it and that it lets you escape for a while :)

They all followed him back into the garden, pairing up and taking their places. Draco picked up the broom he had left leaning against the fence, standing with Dora, but allowing himself to glance at Harry as he climbed into the sidecar of Sirius’ old bike, Hagrid already sitting on it, goggles on. 

“Here,” Dora said, distracting him as she took the luggage and fake-Hedwig’s cage from his hand. She performed a featherlight spell and another one to tie the luggage to his broom - still visible for the Death Eaters, but so that it wouldn’t get into the way of his flying.

“Thank you,” Draco smiled. 

“All right, then,” Moody called. “Everyone ready, please; I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion is lost.”

They all mounted their brooms. Draco threw another furtive glance towards Harry and caught his eyes this time. They held the contact only for a moment as Hagrid started the engine and its sound filled the stillness of the night. 

“Good luck, everyone,” Moody shouted. “See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One… two… THREE!” 

And with that, they took off. Dora stayed glued to his side as they rose into the sky, and to his left, he could see Hermione on her Thestral with Kingsley… And then, they were high enough to take off into separate directions, and Dora indicated their path with a nod. Draco had no time to turn and check for Harry once more - he could hear the roar of the motorbike becoming more distant, though, and then, it was gone altogether, and they were alone.

Draco glanced at Dora, who nodded, giving him a thumbs up. So far, so good. 

Then, though, things started to go downhill. 

Draco tensed when figures started to appear in his direct periphery. There were two of them, dark-cloaked and on brooms, and they were quickly closing in on them. 

“Dora,” Draco hissed. 

“I know,” she muttered. “Wand ready.”

Draco shook out his arm, his wand immediately falling into his palm. This had been Dora’s belated birthday gift to him this summer - a wrist holster for his wand, the kind Aurors used on missions. ‘I’m sure with all the trouble you get into, you can use it,’ she had told him with a smirk, and he'd had to agree with her. It sure came in handy now. 

The Death Eaters were now close enough to make out, and Draco’s eyes widened: One of them, the larger, clearly male one, was still wearing a mask, but the slimmer, female one had taken it off as she approached, a wide, catlike smirk on her familiar face.

Draco had only seen pictures of his aunt Bellatrix, and being confronted with her like this, for the first time, was more than a little disconcerting. 

“Nymphadora,” she called, her voice dauntingly sweet. “My elusive  _ niece. _ So lovely to finally meet you.”

“Can’t say the sentiment is mutual,” Dora replied, her voice remarkably even. 

“Oh, I can imagine. Especially when you’re out on an important mission like this… I’m surprised the order would entrust you with valuable goods like this,” she snorted, nodding to Draco, in Harry’s body. “ _ If  _ he’s the real deal, that is. From what I heard about you, you’re rather on the clumsy side. Must be the dirty blood. Not sure they would actually trust you with their golden boy.”

Draco’s blood boiled at his aunt’s comment, furious for Dora’s sake, but Dora shrugged it off with grace, simply smiling. “That’s up to you to figure out, isn’t it?” she said. “Wouldn’t want to get your boss involved unless you have the real boy.”

And then, quick as lightning, she fired a spell at the two of them. Bellatrix deflected with a shield charm, but it was enough to distract them for a moment.

“Go!” Dora called to Draco, and Draco leaned onto his broom, speeding up with all that he got. He knew Dora was right behind him, still firing spells, trying to keep the Death Eaters away from them. Draco knew that it was his job to lead them out of there - if they stayed out in the open for too long, they’d never escape them. 

He looked down, spotting a dark forest below them. “Dora,” he called. “Dive!”

Dora did as she was told, following after him blindly, and Draco barely had time to throw a stunning spell or two over his shoulder before they reached the trees below them. The spells, much to his frustration, didn’t connect. 

“Watch out!” Draco called as they reached the forest, making sure Dora returned her eyes to the front again lest she crashed. And the trees did provide the cover Draco had hoped for - the forest was just dark and dense enough to help them slip through the trees. They could still hear Bellatrix and her companion on their heels, of course, but the spells they fired didn’t connect anymore, and they seemed to gain some distance. 

Draco took a sharp turn to the right, intending to outmanoeuvre them. Flying was his forte, after all. His aunt had been stuck in Azkaban for years. It was doubtful she could keep up with his form for long. 

He took another sharp right turn, glancing at Dora over his shoulder.

“What are we going to do?” he hissed. 

Dora was quiet for a long moment, and then, she called: “There’s a clearing over there. Land in it.”

“WHAT?!”

“Trust me.”

“They’re not  _ that _ far behind us -”

“ _ Trust me.” _

And so Draco did. As soon as he reached the clearing, he jumped off the broom, turning to Dora, who landed a second after him, stumbling against his chest.

“Hold tight,” she breathed, eyes wide, and Draco could already hear the sound of the Death Eaters approaching. “Don’t you dare let go!”

Draco felt a pulling sensation at his navel and knew that they were apparating. The last thing he saw was a curse heading their way before the scenery eclipsed, and they reappeared in a quiet, moonlit field.

Both of them were panting, still clinging to each other, tense as they checked their surroundings. But they were, indeed, quite alone. 

“Where are we?” Draco asked.

“A little while off me Mum’s house,” Dora shrugged. “Not at all where we were supposed to go, mind you. We were meant to portkey from Aunt Muriel’s like -” she let go of Draco’s arm to check her watch and winced, “- ten minutes ago. This was the first place that popped into my head, though.”

“Nevermind, you saved our arses,” Draco said fiercely.

“Yeah, well, you saved us first” she shrugged. “The forest was a stroke of genius, Draco, honestly.” Then she sighed. “We’ll have to get to the Burrow on our own now, though. The portkey from my parents’ house left already, too.”

“Can’t we apparate?” he asked.

“Nope, too many wards,” she shook her head. “I guess we could apparate a couple of miles from there and then fly the rest of the way…”

“Let’s do that, then,” Draco nodded, holding his arm out to Dora again. She took it, and immediately, the same uncomfortable sensation pulled him away from his current location and made him reappear in another field, this one full of rapeseed. 

“All right,” Dora muttered, as soon as they’d caught their breaths. “Mount your broom. They others will be worried.”

It took another ten-minute flight from where they had apparated to the Weasleys’ home. Draco could sense it when they broke through the extensive wards - it felt like several showers, cold, warm and icy in turn, and then, the house came into view. Dora and Draco landed in the back garden and almost immediately, the backdoor jumped open, revealing Harry and Lupin. Draco was enveloped in Harry’s arms before he had even gotten his footing. It would have made him stumble if Harry’s grasp on him hadn’t been tight with desperation.

Draco dropped the broom to the floor, his own hands coming up around Harry’s shoulders. And then, Harry was kissing him with a fierceness that wiped Draco’s mind blank of everything but the boy holding him. Harry had kissed him so often in the last couple of months, but he had never quite kissed him like this before - like he’d genuinely thought he might never get the opportunity again, so he was now throwing himself into it with complete abandon. When Harry finally pulled away, allowing Draco to draw a shaky breath, the world was spinning for a few instances and he had to cling onto the other boy for support - not that it made any difference, since Harry seemed in no rush to let him go. 

“So, what kept you?” Draco heard Lupin ask Dora, his tone almost menacing in his worry.

“Bellatrix,” Dora sighed, and Draco felt Harry tense against him. “She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry, Remus, she tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I’d got her, I owe Bellatrix. But we definitely injured Rodolphus… We were lucky to get away at all though - if it hadn’t been for Draco’s clear head and his marvellous flying -”

“ _You_ apparated us out of there,” Draco interrupted her, rolling his eyes. “You saved us, in the end.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my job,” she deadpanned. “Doesn’t change the fact that you were wonderful, kiddo.” She turned back to her husband, finishing her tale: “I apparated us far from Aunt Muriel’s, though, and we’d definitely missed the portkey by then, so we had to come by broom.”

Lupin didn’t return anything, but he was staring at her so hard that his eyes might as well burn holes into her head. Harry, on the other hand, loosened his grip on Draco a little, just enough to look into his eyes. His expression was haunted, and it twisted something in Draco’s stomach.

“I’m sorry we scared you,” Draco whispered.

“You could have died,” Harry muttered. “Everyone was back already. Only you were missing. What was I supposed to think?!”

“I’m sorry,” Draco repeated, reaching up to run soothing fingers through his hair. “I swear, we’re okay though. Not even a scratch.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He just continued staring at him and it made Draco feel unnerved, not to mention guilty as hell. “What about you?” he asked. “Did you run into any trouble?”

Harry shook his head. “Got to your Aunt’s without incident,” he shrugged. “Others ran into Death Eaters, too, though. Remus and George, for instance - George got injured, his ear… but he’ll live.” Harry gulped, pale now, before he continued: “Hermione and Kingsley said they saw Travers, which means there was likely another mass breakout… And Mad-Eye and Ron were ambushed as well… All of them came through unscathed, though…” 

“They really did go for all the Harry’s either on broom or with high-profile Aurors accompanying them,” Draco sighed. “I’d say the plan was successful.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, seeing that Harry let go of him immediately, as if the words had burned him. He had no chance to apologise, though, because, at that moment, Hermione bowled into him from the side, apparently having lain in waiting for Harry to release him. 

“Oh my god, I’m so glad to see you safe!” she breathed, squeezing him tightly. “You have no idea how worried we were!”

“Sorry,” Draco muttered into her windswept curls. “Didn’t mean to.”

She made a wet sound, almost like a sob, but when she released him, her eyes were merely glazed over, and Draco was grateful for that. He would have been unable to deal with that much emotion.

“You really took your time, arsehole,” Ginny grumbled from his left side, hitting his bicep with not inconsiderable force, and Draco frowned as he rubbed the spot. “Glad you finally made it back. I thought we had to incarcerate Harry any minute now.”

“We were trying our best, okay?” Draco muttered. “It’s not like we  _ chose _ to dawdle.”

“I know,” she muttered, and her face softened. “Just don’t do it again, okay? You really scared the shit out of us.”

“I’ll try,” Draco smiled, and she returned the smile. 

“Let’s get back inside and report to Mum and Dad,” she nodded to the house, and everyone fell into step with her. Draco only noticed now that Weasley was awkwardly standing at the back door, waiting for them. He nodded jerkily at Draco when their eyes met. Draco returned the gesture. 

“Hey,” Lupin said in his ear, suddenly appearing at his side, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “I’m glad to see you safe. Thanks for bringing my wife back home.”

“I told you, Dora did more to save me than the other way around,” Draco insisted, flushing slightly. 

“I really doubt that’s true, Draco,” he smiled, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “You really need to learn to accept compliments, you know.”

Draco didn’t answer, quite unsure how to. Lupin didn’t seem to require an answer, though, because he continued, quite without Draco’s input: “I’m really glad you made it back safely. Not only because of Tonks, but because of  _ you.  _ W ith Tonks and Harry, you’re the person that I worried about the most out there today.”

“Why?” Draco asked, baffled.

“Because to me, you’re family now,” Lupin said simply, and Draco blinked at those words, realising the truth of them. He had always felt a connection to his former teacher, but with everything going on, it hadn’t quite clicked with him that his cousin’s wedding had now made them actual family. “And as you might realise, I don’t have much of that left. I intend to cherish that, Draco.”

Draco smiled at Lupin, almost ashamed to admit how warm and treasured he felt at his words. His own father had rarely been very affectionate towards him, even throughout his childhood. It had mostly been his mother, and later Andromeda and Dora, maybe Ted. To have Lupin openly admit to caring about him like family was something else entirely. 

“Thanks,” Draco muttered, eventually finding his voice. “That means a lot to me, Professor.”

At that, Lupin snorted. 

“I think you’re the only one still calling me that,” he teased. “How about we try the first name, for a change? Seeing that we are family now?”

Draco chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine,” he relented. “Thanks, Remus.”

Remus squeezed his shoulder in approval. Across the room, Draco could see Dora smiling fondly, though she was pretending not to watch them. They had now entered the Burrow, at last, and Draco’s eyes zoomed in on George lying on the couch with most of his family scattered around him. There was a bloody hole where his ear had once been, and Draco felt sick looking as Mrs Weasley gently dabbed at it with a potion-drained tissue. Fred was sitting on the arm of the couch, talking softly to his brother. 

“Oh, you’re back,” George spoke up when he took note of Draco, smiling thinly. “Glad to see you’re not dead.”

“Glad to not be dead,” Draco returned, frowning. “Are you all right?” 

“Fine, fine,” he waved off. “Just got some alterations done to make your daily life easier. Now you lot can at least tell us apart.”

Draco sent him a weak smile. 

“Someone should contact Kingsley,” Bill noted. “He had to get back to Downing Street for the Muggle Prime Minister, but he asked us to keep him updated about you.”

“Yes, we also need to contact Muriel,” Mr Weasley added. “She’ll still be waiting for Tonks and Draco.”

“I’ll take care of Kingsley,” Moody offered gruffly, pushing himself off an armchair to get to his feet (or foot, in his case). “I wanted to check in with Hestia and Dedalus, anyway. One more fire call won’t make the cauldron boil over.”

“Thank you, Mad-Eye,” Mr Weasley said, walking him towards the door and accompanying him outside. Draco’s eyes lingered on the door as it closed before sweeping over the other occupants of the room: Dora, who was in a whispered conversation with Bill and Fleur, Hermione, who stood a little too close to Weasley, Ginny, who seemed to be discussing the apparent mass breakout from Azkaban with Hagrid, Mrs Weasley and Fred, who were still lingering with George… And amongst them, all by himself, Harry, who was staring into space, a look of determination on his face.

Draco knew that it could mean nothing good when he opened his mouth.

“I’ve got to go, too,” he said, and everyone fell silent immediately, turning to stare at him.

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t stay here.”

“Harry,” Draco sighed, feeling weary. “Please…” Harry was rubbing his forehead, pointedly avoiding his gaze, though he did not seem to be looking at anyone else, either.

“You’re all in danger while I’m here,” he said eventually. “I don’t want -”

“But don’t be so silly!” Mrs Weasley interrupted him, clearly distraught. “The whole point of tonight was to get you here safely, and thank goodness it worked! And Fleur’s agreed to get married here rather than in France, we’ve arranged everything so that we can all stay together and look after you -”

Draco knew that the reminder of the lengths they'd had to go through to ensure Harry’s safety would do nothing to assuage the guilt Harry felt right now, so he quickly intervened, interrupting even as Harry opened his mouth to fight back.

“Harry,” Draco said softly, shaking off Remus’ arm and crossing the room to stand in front of his boyfriend, taking his hand. “I know you don’t want anyone to get hurt for you. But this is a war, and people will get hurt no matter what. You have to understand that protecting you is a choice we all make willingly, fully aware of the dangers it brings with it.”

“Honestly, stepping out of the door might earn us a Killing Curse in the chest nowadays,” Ginny muttered.

“And right now, you’re as safe here as it gets,” Draco insisted.

“That’s right,” Mr Weasley agreed, returning to the room. “There are a dozen places you might be right now, Harry, and You-Know-Who has no way of knowing which safe house you’re in.”

“It’s not me I’m worried for!” Harry exclaimed, with the air of someone cornered.

“We know that,” Mr Weasley answered, “but it would make our efforts tonight seem rather pointless if you left.”

“Yer not goin’ anywhere,” Hagrid warned, glowering at him. “Blimey, Harry, after all we wen’ through ter get you here?”

“Yeah, what about my bleeding ear?” George demanded, and Draco just wanted to tell them all to shut up, because they were _not_ helping, but Harry had already taken a step back from him and pushed his hand away in the process. 

“I KNOW!” Harry yelled angrily. An awkward silence fell as Harry turned his back on them and picked up his trunk and Hedwig’s cage to heave them up the stairs towards Weasley’s room. Draco watched him go with a heavy stomach, wringing his hands nervously. 

“I’m going after him,” he announced, once Harry was out of earshot.

“Do you want help?” Hermione asked tentatively, but Draco quickly shook his head.

“Better let me talk to him alone, for now,” Draco told her. “We both know that usually brings forth the better results.”

She didn’t argue, and Draco followed Harry up the stairs without any protests from the others. In front of Weasley’s room, he hesitated for a short moment before knocking. When there was no response, he pushed the door open, stepping inside. 

Harry was seated by the open window of the atrociously orange room, staring outside. Hedwig’s cage was open and empty, and Harry was watching her fly off at the horizon.He had not turned on the lights, and he did not turn to look at Draco as he entered. 

“Hey,” Draco said softly, sitting behind Harry at the little space he had left on the windowsill, moving some of Weasley’s Quidditch magazines to the floor to make room for himself. His shoulder pressed against Harry’s back like this, but Harry still gave no reaction. “Listen, I know you felt blackmailed down there, and I’m sorry. It’s not like I don’t understand what you’re feeling…”

“But you don’t,” Harry bit out.

“You care for us and you don’t want any of us to get hurt,” Draco argued. “I think this transcends our individual situations, Harry.”

“Only with the small distinction that the people  _ I _ care about tend to get hurt in the process of  _ protecting me _ , and I’m sick of it.”

Draco’s heart fell, and he automatically leaned a little more into Harry, trying to give comfort the only way he knew how to. “Okay, that’s fair,” he relented. “But Harry, pulling away from us completely and putting yourself in more danger in the process is not the solution.”

Harry didn’t answer, but his shoulders had tensed, and Draco straightened up hesitantly, attempting to catch a glance at his boyfriend’s face.

“Harry?” he asked. “Are you still listen-” 

But he cut himself off when he saw that Harry’s face was screwed up in pain, and the next moment, his hand flew up to his scar. Draco reached out to him, called his name, tried to somehow pull him back from whichever place in the Dark Lord’s mind he had been pulled into; Harry started trembling violently in his arms and his heart was racing, his breathing out of control -

“Harry!” Draco called, shaking him, and finally, Harry’s eyes opened, wide and terrified. “Are you okay?”

“He was angry at the Death Eaters for letting me escape,” Harry gasped. “For getting the wrong date in the first place. He tortured people. He -” Harry gulped and leaned into Draco’s embrace, at last accepting his comfort. 

“It’s all right,” Draco murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Harry nodded and buried his face in Draco’s throat, letting Draco pet his hair and kiss his temple until the trembling had died down and his breathing had evened out. 

Eventually, there was a knock on the door, pulling them out of their little, peaceful bubble. 

“Yes?” Draco said, the normal pitch of his voice now sounding strangely loud in comparison to the soft silence that had reigned between them. 

The door opened, and Hermione and Weasley looked inside, their faces unsure. 

“Draco, Tonks and Remus would like to leave, and they want to drop you off at Andromeda’s along the way,” Hermione explained. 

“Mate, are you okay?” Weasley asked, eyes on Harry. 

“I’m fine,” Harry shrugged, clearing his throat as he straightened himself, effectively slipping from Draco’s embrace. 

Draco sighed, feeling strangely bereft and a little disconcerted. Their prior discussion had been interrupted by Harry’s vision, and it did not feel resolved in the slightest. What if Harry started freaking out again as soon as he was gone?

“We’ll talk some more tomorrow, okay?” Draco promised, leaning in to catch Harry’s lips for a short, soft kiss. Harry allowed it, much to Draco’s relief.

“See you,” Harry whispered, green eyes cloudy. 

Draco sighed as he got to his feet and crossed the room. Hermione touched his arm for a moment, a look of worry in her eyes, and Draco grimaced at her before turning to leave.

Dora and Remus were waiting for him downstairs, and their faces, too, were serene as he joined them. 

“How is he?” Dora asked. Draco just shrugged. She sighed and shook her head. “Let’s go,” she said, and Draco nodded. 

He bid his goodbyes to everyone else and then they stepped out of the protective wards just enough to allow them to apparate to Andromeda’s - Draco had passed his examination a couple of weeks ago, along with Weasley. They had thought it smart to get that done with before taking off with Harry. They were going to be breaking enough rules as it was. One thing less to worry about. 

As soon as they appeared in Andromeda’s living room, they were surrounded by people - his mother was the first one that got to Draco, kissing Draco’s forehead lovingly and pulling him into a tight embrace. Then, Andromeda fussed over him, and finally, Ted ruffled his hair and offered him a firewhiskey. They all sat down for a drink as Dora retold the events of the evening for them, giving Draco a moment to just shut down and nurse his drink. His mother absentmindedly trailed her fingers over Draco’s wrist where it lay on the table, as if to ensure herself that he was actually physically back, but otherwise, her eyes were fixed on her niece as she listened to her story.

“I can understand what Harry’s going through,” Remus said, very quietly, from his seat next to Draco. “It’s… not easy when you think you’re going to be a danger to the people you love.” Draco just looked at him, unsure how to answer. “It took Tonks a long time to convince me that it’s selfish to make decisions for her,” Remus sighed. “But I still have moments where I… What I want to say is, I know why he’s acting that way.”

“Then tell me what to do to make it easier on him,” Draco pleaded.

Remus smiled regretfully. “I don’t think I can,” he sighed. “If there was a universal recipe for this, I’d love to know it myself. You can just try to convince him that you know what you’re doing and that you’re better off with him than without him. If he sees that he’ll cause you more pain if he leaves, he’ll likely want to stay. At least, that’s a trick Tonks uses on me.”

Draco nodded, silent for a moment, before muttering: “What you said to me earlier, about seeing me as family… Maybe you could say something like that to Harry, too.” Remus raised an eyebrow at him, which made Draco elaborate: “Harry has lost so many people recently, and you’re the last close friend of his parents he has left. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to voice it towards him what that means to you. Just so that he is reminded how much people care about him, outside of him being The Boy Who Lived.”

“Duly noted,” Remus nodded. “I might have thought that by now, me seeing Harry as family was obvious, but you’re right. I should probably say it out loud. Thanks, Draco.”

“Don’t thank me,” Draco shook his head. “I’ll have to thank you if it makes Harry feel better.”

Remus smiled sadly, shaking his head. “Here we go again,” he muttered. “You really can’t accept compliments, can you?”

Draco frowned, but didn’t answer. His mother’s hand tightened a little around his wrist, but only just, and she was still focused on Dora, so Draco thought it might have been a coincidence.


	3. The Will of Albus Dumbledore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I hope you're still healthy and that you're still holding on, whether you're in isolation or out there working!! 
> 
> I'm back with the new chapter, and I hope it brightens up your day a little :) In this one, you'll finally find out the more obvious reason behind the naming of this installment. I hope you'll enjoy it!!

When Draco arrived at the Burrow the next day, the mood was more than just a little tense. He found Weasley in the kitchen, peeling potatoes in silence as his mother forcefully chopped carrots, and Draco took a moment to watch them before timidly clearing his throat. They both looked up from their tasks, then, and Mrs Weasley’s usually kind face softened just a fraction at the sight of him, while Weasley’s expression seemed to scream: ‘Run while you still can.’

“Draco, dear,” Mrs Weasley said. “How sweet of you to drop by. I’m afraid we’re all swamped with wedding preparation, so we don’t really have time -”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Draco ensured her. “I’d just like to see Harry. I’m sure you can understand. We’ve been apart for weeks, and last night was a little hectic.” Mrs Weasley frowned, her lips tight, as if her worst fears had been confirmed, and Draco added quietly: “I can help with whatever chores you gave him. Two pair of hands are faster than one, and I’m off age so I can use magic, too. We can get more done together.”

Her frown deepened, indicating that he'd said exactly what she was afraid of, but she had no arguments to refute his. “Fine,” she returned, rather stiffly. “Harry’s with the chickens, cleaning out the shed. But come back inside as soon as you’re finished. I have a whole list of tasks for you. No dawdling.”

Draco nodded and quickly turned for the living room to flee to the garden, eager to get out of her sight. 

“Malfoy,” Weasley called, making Draco halt in his movements. “Can I have a word?”

“Ronald Weasley,” his mother hissed immediately. “Lunch won’t cook itself, and -”

“Blimey, Mum, it will only take a moment!” Weasley snapped, his ears red. “I’ll be back in a minute, I swear!” And before his mother could respond, he had caught up with Draco and bodily pushed him out of the kitchen and into the living room. The room was deserted, which was unusual but apparently convenient, as Weasley huffed out a breath of relief and leaned closer to speak softly to Draco.

“Listen, you need to know something - Harry was going to sneak off last night. I caught him before he could leave the premises, and I could talk him into staying, but he was dead-set on making a run for it.”

“What?!” Draco hissed, eyes wide as he stared at Weasley, heart hammering. 

“Yeah,” Weasley nodded, rather grimly. “When I got to him, he tried to talk me into going with him, but I told him he was mental. You and ‘Mione would track us down anyway, and you’d make us regret it. If we survived that long without you, that is.”

“You bet we would,” Draco muttered, a little shakily. 

“I think not knowing whether you were dead or alive last night really did a number on him,” Weasley mused, catching his eye. “So you’d better talk to him, alright? He usually listens to you more than to us.”

“‘Usually’ being the keyword here,” Draco sighed, biting his lip. “I’ll try my best.”

“Do that,” Weasley nodded. “Know you’re on a tight schedule, though. Mum is trying her best to keep us from having private conversations, it seems.” As if on clue, his mother’s angry voice demanded Weasley’s presence in the kitchen. “See?” he sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll try to be quick and efficient,” Draco muttered, nodding at Weasley in thanks before making the way over to the garden.

Harry had left the door to the shed open, and Draco stood in the entrance door a moment to watch him muck out one of the perches for the hens, a permanent frown on his face. Draco sighed, entering and clearing his throat, making Harry look up. 

“Hey,” Draco smiled tentatively, and Harry tried to return it, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I had to basically fight Mrs Weasley to get in here. She seems to think we might cook up something evil in her shed. Must be my Slytherin influence.”

The joke fell flat between them, and Draco sighed, crossing the remaining distance between them to sling his arms around Harry’s waist, digging his chin into his shoulder. It effectively stopped Harry from moving around.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Draco muttered. “I know I scared you. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t,” Harry sighed. “You never do. That’s the problem, you just - instinctively try to throw yourself into harm’s way sometimes, and it scares me.”

“I always thought my survival instincts were much further developed than those of you Gryffindors,” Draco pointed out, voice mild.

“No, not when it comes to protecting me, they aren’t,” Harry argued, voice heavy. “You’ve run headfirst into danger one too many times for my liking lately, and I just…” He didn’t finish the sentence, and Draco squeezed his arms around him and turned his face to press a kiss to the side of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Draco breathed. “I’ll be more careful.”

“I can’t lose you, Draco,” Harry whispered. 

“What a lucky coincidence,” Draco said lightly. “I can’t lose you, either. So let’s just stay together and make sure no one dies, okay?”

Harry shook his head, sighing deeply.

“I still think you’re more likely to get hurt with me than you are without me,” he muttered.

“Well, I strongly disagree,” Draco said softly. “Also, no offence, but you don’t get to make decisions for me just because we’re together. I made my choice to stick by you, and my own mother knows better than to try to change my mind, so you’d better stop putting up a fight, too.”

“So she’s just going to let you go?” Harry asked, sounding doubtful. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “Just like that.”

“But doesn’t she realise -”

“She knows exactly how dangerous it is, Harry. She’s a highly intelligent woman. But she’s also watched her son turn his back on his parents’ ideology from an age of eleven, all because he met you. She knows better than to fight it.”

Harry was silent for a long moment, and then, he squirmed in Draco’s embrace, causing Draco to loosen his arms just a little to allow Harry to turn to face him. Harry’s green eyes were blazing with desperation as he cupped Draco’s cheeks, gently tracing his jaw. 

“I’m terrified of being the cause of your death one day,” Harry breathed. “I’m not sure if I could live with that.”

Draco turned his face to kiss his palm, lingering before he spoke. 

“The thing is, Harry, that me surviving without you is not an option. The emotional aspect aside, you are the one who’s supposed to defeat the Dark Lord, and if you’re killed and I’m still alive, they’ll eventually find me and finish me off, too. So logic dictates that my life is better spent trying to keep you alive than hiding somewhere and waiting things out, living in regret should they not work out the way I’d hoped.” Harry’s face was pained when he’d finished, but he had nothing to return to his logic, so it seemed infallible. Draco leaned in to nudge his nose. “I know it’s hard for you,” Draco whispered, “but please stop focusing so much on how we could die, and let’s start concentrating on how to survive. I think our energy is much better spent that way.”

Harry breathed out a deep sigh, but finally, he nodded. His hands moved to Draco’s hair, running loving fingers through it as he connected their lips in a bone-melting kiss.

This was how Mrs Weasley found them eventually, fuming at their lack of progress. 

“I’m sorry,” Draco muttered, flushing as Harry stumbled back, returning to his work. “Let me just -”

“I think it’s better if you return home for today, Draco,” Mrs Weasley said colly. “I think you’ve done enough.”

And that was the first and only time Draco was thrown out of the Burrow.

After that horrifying incident, Draco decided to lay low for the remaining four days until Bill and Fleur’s wedding. He went over only once before the big event, and that was for Harry’s birthday, when he was explicitly invited for dinner. 

Harry had insisted on not wanting Mrs Weasley to make a big fuss on his birthday, so they merely invited most of the Weasley clan, Hagrid, Dora, Remus and Draco and had a small celebration at the Burrow. Draco allowed himself to floo over after breakfast, figuring that on this special occasion, he might actually be allowed into Harry’s proximity sooner than everyone else. And fair enough, Mrs Weasley narrowed her eyes for a moment as she caught sight of him, but she waved him through to Weasley’s room. Draco found Harry in a rare quiet moment with Hermione and Weasley, and his eyes lightened up when Draco entered the room, which Draco took as a stark improvement compared to his dark mood last time they’d spoken.

“Mum let you in, did she?” Weasley snickered, and Draco threw him an unimpressed glare as he took a seat next to Harry on his mattress and kissed his cheek. “I thought she might ban you after doing untoward things in our shed.”

“We didn’t do untoward things!” Harry exclaimed, face red. “It was a kiss! And anyway, you know she was just paranoid we’d be planning our escape from the Burrow behind her back!”

“Don’t let him work you up, Harry,” Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling. “You’re just giving him ammunition.”

Harry grumbled to himself but quickly fell silent. Draco shook his head, deciding not to comment. Instead, he pulled a little box from his robe pocket and handed it to Harry.

“Happy birthday,” he smiled. 

“Thanks,” Harry smiled softly. “Can I open it?”

“No, it’s just for decoration,” Draco deadpanned, making Harry roll his eyes and reach out to remove the lid.

“You know, if you’re planning to propose, that’s not the most romantic way to do it,” Weasley commented. “You’re not kneeling, for one.”

“It’s not even the right size for a ring box,” Draco snorted. “Find smarter taunts, Weasley.”

Weasley opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione elbowed him, eyes on Harry, who had opened the box and was staring at its content. Draco leaned into him and took the box from him, removing the elegant leather bracelet inside and unlacing it, reaching out for Harry’s wrist.

“I hope you like it,” Draco said quietly. “It’s not merely supposed to be pretty, though. It’s enchanted to allow the wearer to communicate with its twin - which I own.” He indicated to the band around his own wrist before he finished tying Harry’s and turned to point at the clasp. “See the golden anchor you clasp it with? There’s a tiny wheel at the base. Turn it until it glows, and then mine should grow warm, indicating you’re trying to contact me. If you hold it to your mouth, it should transfer your voice. And vice versa, of course. If you’re done, just turn the wheel in the other direction and it will stop glowing. I thought it might be practical, in case we get separated,” he finished, a little unsure now. “It’s less flashy than a Patronus, see?”

“You did this?” Harry asked, sounding stunned.

“Well, yeah,” Draco shrugged. “It wasn’t that difficult, really, just a little twist on the charms Hermione created the coins and the parchments with and -”

“You are amazing,” Harry smiled, shaking his head and leaning in to press a kiss to Draco’s lips. “I love them. I’m sure they’ll come in super handy.”

“Definitely,” Hermione agreed, eyes glowing. “Can I see?”

They spent the next couple of minutes trying out the bracelets, and Draco found a little pride in the absolute delight in Hermione’s eyes. 

They were called downstairs once the others started to arrive. The Delacours had arrived at the Burrow two days prior, and Fleur’s little sister Gabrielle seemed to have taken a particular liking towards Draco’s boyfriend. Draco remembered there was a story there (though he tended to suppress memories of the second task of the Triwizard Tournament), but he had not expected her to put her Veela heritage to full use by flirting with Harry. Draco would have been annoyed if the unnerved expression on Harry’s face hadn’t been so utterly adorable. 

“Save me,” Harry whispered to him, leaning into his side after one of Gabrielle’s less subtle attempts at gaining his favour. 

Draco couldn’t help but laugh at him, though he did claim his stake by brushing the hair from his forehead and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, which Harry shamelessly leaned into. 

Gabrielle gave Draco the cold shoulder for the rest of her stay at the Burrow, after that. 

Eventually, when they were all gathered, only Mr Weasley was missing, and Mrs Weasley was about to start dinner without him when his Patronus arrived with a message.

“Minister for Magic is coming with me,” the silver weasel announced with Arthur Weasley’s voice, making everyone fall silent in alarm. 

“We shouldn’t be here,” Remus said immediately, getting to his feet, Dora on his heels. “Harry - I’m sorry - I’ll explain another time - “

They clambered out of sight, disapparating immediately, and Draco felt livid as he stared after them. He knew that the reason they felt the need to take off like that was Scrimgeour's anti-werewolf stance. He knew why he disliked the man.

Mrs Weasley, meanwhile, seemed completely out of her depths. “The Minister - but why?” she muttered. “I don’t understand -”

Draco thought it was pretty obvious that whatever the Minister wanted, it was to be related to Harry, and his fingers clenched into a fist at the thought. Harry noticed and closed his own fingers around Draco’s wrist. 

Only a moment later, Mr Weasley apparated at the gate, Scrimgeour close behind him. They watched silently as the two of them made their way over to them, Mr Weasley looking nervous and the Minister’s face grim.

“Sorry to intrude,” Scrimgeour said. “Especially as I can see that I am gatecrashing a party.” Draco didn’t think he looked very sorry, though, and his following congratulations to Harry were more than half-baked. “I require a private word with you,” Scrimgeour went on, to absolutely no one’s surprise. What did shock him, though, was that he added: “Also with Mr Ronald Weasley, Miss Hermione Granger and Mr Draco Malfoy.”

“Us?” Weasley asked, the first to speak. “Why?”

“I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private,” Scrimgeour shrugged him off, rather colly. “Is there such a place?” he asked, turning to Mr Weasley again. 

“Yes, of course,” Mr Weasley nodded, though he looked worried. “The, er, sitting room, why don’t you use that?”

“You can lead the way,” Scrimgeour said to Weasley. “There will be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur.”

Draco thought that Mr Weasley quite disagreed with that sentiment, but he knew that arguing with the Minister wasn’t in his best interest so he stayed quiet. The four of them got to their feet and followed Weasley into the living room. None of them spoke as they took their seats (Scrimgeour in an armchair, while the other four squeezed onto the sofa, Draco sitting on the armrest basically in Harry’s lap), but they exchanged meaningful looks which spoke volumes.

“I have some questions for the four of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you three -” he indicated to the right half of the sofa, excluding Weasley, “can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Harry shot him down, and Hermione was nodding vigorously. “You can speak to us together, or not at all.”

“You can’t play us against each other, you know,” Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t really think it would be that easy?”

Scrimgeour threw him a nasty look, but he seemed to try his best to keep a cool head in the face of their hostility. Interesting, Draco thought. Whatever information he required, he wanted it  _ badly _ .

“Very well, then, together,” he shrugged. “I am here, as I’m sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore’s will.”

Draco blinked, flabbergasted. Then, he glanced at the others, who seemed just as taken aback. Harry caught his eyes, clear surprise in his expression.

“A surprise, apparently! You were not aware, then, that Dumbledore had left you anything?”

“A - all of us?” Weasley asked. “Not just Harry?”

“Yes, all of -”

“Dumbledore died over a month ago,” Harry interrupted him, his voice hard. “Why has it taken this long to give us what he left us?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione answered, before Scrimgeour could. “They wanted to examine whatever he’d left us. You had no right to do that!” she called, her anger now directed at the Minister. 

“I had every right,” the Minister shrugged her off. “The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power to confiscate the contents of a will -”

“Yes, but only in case the Ministry has evidence that said contents might be illegal or dangerous,” Draco cut in, his eyes blazing. “I know that law very well, it was put in action often enough against Pureblood families. Somehow, though, I doubt that Albus Dumbledore would leave his four students any dangerous or illegal dark artefacts.”

“Well, considering your family background, Mr Malfoy, do you really blame the Ministry for being overly careful with any artefact handed to you?” Scrimgeour asked pointedly, and Draco glowered at him. 

“Excuse me?!” Harry asked, his voice rising. “Are you insinuating what I think you are insinuating?!”

“Harry,” Draco warned, his voice strained.

“No, he’s right, this is ridiculous!” Hermione snapped. “You have no legal base for this, and now you’re trying to justify your actions with Draco’s family background?!”

“Who are you to tell me what’s legal and what isn’t, Miss Granger?” Scrimgeour asked. “Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law?”

“No, I’m not,” she snapped. “I’m hoping to do some good in the world!”

And at that moment, Draco felt so fiercely proud of her, he wished he could reach across the sofa to hug her. Weasley laughed, but Scrimgeour’s eyes flashed in anger. Harry was still positively vibrating with rage next to Draco. The Minister really shouldn’t have made the mistake of doubting Draco’s allegiance, he thought absentmindedly. 

“So, why have you decided to let us have our things now?” Harry snarled, at last. “Can’t think of a pretext to keep them?”

“They’re only allowed to keep them for 31 days, Harry,” Draco snorted. “Their time is up.”

“Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?” Scrimgeour asked, completely ignoring the two of them.

“Dumbledore was a very caring Headmaster,” Draco spoke, before Weasley could. “He took a great interest in a lot of students, and especially in those surrounding Harry. You surely know that Harry has had a rough past, so he did his best to support him all he could, and in the process, he became quite invested in his life, and the lives of the people closest to him.” 

It was a shameless stretch of the truth, of course, but Draco could see what the Minister was up to, at last - he wanted to find reasons to take away whatever heirlooms Dumbledore had given them, and he was not going to let that happen. He was unsure whether Weasley and the others had already caught up, but surely, after Draco’s little speech, they would.

“I wasn’t speaking to you, Mr Malfoy,” Scrimgeour sniped.

“So sorry, Minister,” Draco smiled, but he did glance at Weasley for a moment. The other’s eyes were wide, but when they met Draco’s, he sat up straight and nodded, once.  _ Thank Merlin,  _ Draco thought. 

“Of course I wasn’t as close to Dumbledore as Harry,” Weasley said finally, “but as Malfoy said, Dumbledore did - um - take an interest in all of us, because we were Harry’s friends. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Harry was alone all these years, and he wanted him to have a better life and all that.”

“We saw a lot of him at Hogwarts, and I think he grew very fond of all of us,” Hermione said, and she even went as far as putting forth a bit of acting, making her voice sound nostalgic, saddened. “At least I enjoyed our conversations very much, whenever they happened.”

Scrimgeour glared into the round. Very clearly, he didn’t believe a word they said, but he knew he was outmanoeuvred. So he pulled a drawstring pouch from inside his cloak, and without ado, presented them with a scroll of parchment, from which he read: “‘ _ The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’ _ … yes, here we are…  _ ‘to Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.” _

Draco frowned, watching as Scrimgeour withdrew an object that looked almost Muggle in its construction: It was long and silver with a cap at the top and a button at the bottom. Weasley, turned it over and over in his hands as the Minister handed it to him. 

“That is a valuable object,” Scrimgeour said. “It may even be unique. Certainly, it is of Dumbledore’s own design. Why would he have left you an item so rare?”

That was a very good question, Draco thought. One that he had no immediate answer to, but even if he had, Scrimgeour wouldn’t get it. Weasley must have thought along the same lines because he just shrugged and muttered: “He wanted me to have something to put out lights with, I suppose. What else could I do with it?”

It was obvious Scrimgeour, even after excessive examination of the item, had no answer to that question, and it frustrated him immensely. So he returned to Dumbledore’s will and began reading again. 

“ _ ‘To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _ , in the hope that she will find them entertaining and instructive.’ _ ”

Draco had to school his face very carefully to not make his eyebrows shoot up as Scrimgeour pulled the book from the sack. A book of fairy tales, even a first edition? Sure, Hermione was a book nerd, but why leave this to her? There must be some sort of clue hidden there. They would have to talk later. 

As Hermione took the book, a tear slipped from her eyes, and if she was indeed still acting, she was doing a bloody good job of it. 

“Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?” Scrimgeour asked. 

“He… he knew I liked books,” she answered, her voice thick. 

“But why that particular book?” Scrimgeour prodded.

“Honestly?” Draco injected, exasperated. “There could be a million answers! Hermione is Muggleborn, so he might have wanted her to own a bit of Wizarding culture. She is a talented rune translator, so he might have wanted to give her a challenge. They discussed books a lot, and maybe he was fond of that volume and wanted to know it in good hands. If you don’t want us to go back in time and  _ ask _ the Headmaster, which will be extremely difficult without time turners, I’d say we’ll never know.”

Scrimgeour pointedly ignored him, still focusing on Hermione. “Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Draco groaned.

“You, be quiet!” Scrimgeour called, finally goaded by Draco’s behaviour. 

“Don’t talk to Draco like that!” Harry hissed, immediately alert. 

“No, I didn’t,” Hermione said loudly, speaking over everyone and cutting their banter short. She was still teary-eyed and Weasley squirmed to put an arm around her. “And if the Ministry hasn’t found any hidden codes in this book in 31 days, I doubt that I will.”

Scrimgeour was breathing heavily now. He threw another nasty glare at Draco before huffing and returning to the will, reading: “ _ ‘To Draco Lucius Malfoy, I leave the necklace The Truth of the Heart. It was originally an heirloom stemming from the Black family that fell into my possession, and I feel it’s only just to return it to someone originating from that bloodline now. I’ll leave it to Mr Malfoy in the hope that in moments of despair, it will present him with comfort and hope.’” _

Draco blinked, staring when Scrimgeour drew a long, ancient black and gold jewellery box out of the sack and thrust it at him. Draco took it carefully, lifting the lid to reveal a necklace carefully spread out on golden padding. The necklace itself was silver and of a quite simple, sturdy chain, holding a round stone the likes Draco had never seen before. It looked a little like an amber at first glance, but it was lighter and more translucent, and it sparkled, as if actual gold particles were embedded into the stone. 

“Have you ever seen that particular heirloom before, Mr Malfoy?” Scrimgeour asked him, making Draco look up, at last. 

“No,” he answered, truthfully, this time. “I haven’t.”

“Do you have any idea why Dumbledore had it?”

“Not the slightest.” That wasn’t quite as true. He might have found it at Grimmauld Place, though there was no guarantee for that, of course.

“Do you know what it does?” Scrimgeour continued, eyes narrowing.

“How would I, since I obviously didn’t know it existed until a minute ago,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me, since you’ve obviously run all sorts of tests on it?”

“Its magic allows you to catch short glimpses of people you hold dear,” Scrimgeour explains, his voice short, and Draco’s heart sped up a little, thinking that this was an unexpectedly useful gift. “Why would he think you’d need such an item, Mr Malfoy?”

“Who says he thought I’d need it?” Draco countered. “It belonged to my family, he wanted to return it. Simple as that.”

Scrimgeour glared, but he apparently had nothing else to add. Instead, he turned to the will once more. 

“ _ ‘To Harry James Potter’ _ ,” he read, and Draco felt Harry tense in anticipation next to him, “ _ ‘I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.’” _ Draco couldn’t help but stare dumbly this time as Scrimgeour withdrew the tiny golden ball, its wings beating feebly in his hand. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t  _ that _ . “Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?” Scrimgeour asked, not unwarranted.

“No idea,” Harry shrugged, sounding disappointed. “For the reasons you just read out, I suppose… to remind me what you can get if you… persevere and whatever it was.”

“You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?”

“I suppose so. What else could it be?”

And that’s when it hit Draco. Snitches had flesh memories. They remembered the first person to touch them - in this case, Harry. There might be something hidden within that Snitch that would only be revealed once Harry touched it. 

He sat still, wondering if there was any way to communicate this to Harry without it being obvious. He missed whatever banter was happening around him as his mind worked, only perking up when he heard the words “flesh memories”, this time from Hermione’s mouth. He threw her an incredulous glance, but she did not see him. How the heck was it a good idea to present the answer to Scrimgeour on a silver platter? 

But as Scrimgeour laid out everything Draco had realised a minute before for them in excruciating detail, Draco quickly came to see that Scrimgeour had planned for this all along, and that every attempt to stall or prevent the inevitable would be fruitless. 

Harry still hesitated before taking the Snitch from Scrimgeour’s hand, but when he finally did, Draco bit his lip, waiting…

Nothing happened. He was both relieved and disappointed all at once. 

“That was dramatic,” Harry noted drily. Draco snorted, and Hermione and Weasley laughed. 

“That’s all, then, is it?” Hermione said,

“Not quite,” Scrimgeour drawled, his expression sour. “Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter.”

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“The sword of Godric Gryffindor.”

Draco’s eyes widened, and Harry turned his head left and right to look for the sword, as if it might just appear in the room upon call. “So where is it?” he demanded.

“Unfortunately,” Scrimgeour said, and Draco thought he detected some pleasure in his voice now, “that sword was not Dumbledore’s to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artefact, and as such, belongs -”

“It belongs to Harry!” Hermione argued angrily. “It chose him, he was the one who found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat -”

“According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor,” Scrimgeour recited. “That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have decided.” He was staring at Harry again, continuing: “Why do you think -”

“Oh, in the name of Salazar!” Draco exploded. “I’ve got enough of your questions,  _ Minister.  _ You’ve taken up quite enough of our time, considering that all you’ve done is insult us and withhold our property. Now if you don’t mind, we’d like to enjoy whatever’s left of Harry’s birthday.”

“Shut your mouth!” Scrimgeour called. “This isn’t a joke! Why did Dumbledore want you to have that sword, Potter? Was it because Dumbledore believed only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as so many, that you are the one destined to destroy He Who Must Not Be Named?”

“Interesting theory,” Harry snapped. “Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people on to that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So is this what you’ve been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? People are dying, and Draco was very nearly one of them only a couple of days ago.”

“You mean, at the Order’s autonomous attempt to move you from Privet Drive?” Scrimgeour yelled, standing now, and Harry, too, jumped to his feet. Draco hastily got to his feet as well, wand in hand. “If they had relied upon the Ministry instead of doing everything on their own and involving students barely off age -”

“Why would we cooperate with you?!” Harry shouted. “You lie, you keep secrets, you call the people I’d give my life for untrustworthy - why would I  _ ever _ believe a word you say?”

“You go too far!” Scrimgeour shouted, brandishing his wand, but Draco was ready - he’d thrown a shield charm over Harry, throwing the Minister back a couple of feet. 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ ,” Draco seethed, wand pointed. “Don’t you  _ dare _ raise your wand against Harry, because Minister, I swear you won’t walk out of here on your feet if you do.”

“Is that a threat?” he yelled.

“Yes,” Draco said.

The door opened and Mr and Mrs Weasley burst into the room, eyes wide.

“We - we thought we heard -” Mr Weasley muttered, looking from Scrimgeour to Draco, who both still had their wands raised. 

“- raised voices,” Mrs Weasley finished, her expression terrified at the picture in front of her.

Finally, Draco composed himself and lowered his wand. Scrimgeour followed his example, though more jerkily than him. 

“It - it was nothing,” he muttered. “I… regret your attitude,” he said stiffly, glancing at Harry once more. “You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire what you - what Dumbledore - desired. We ought to be working together.” 

“I don’t like your methods, Minister,” Harry glowered. “Remember?”

And at that, Harry raised his right fist, showing off the scars he had obtained under Umbridge’s punishment. Scrimgeour tensed, and without another word, he retreated, leaving the room. Mrs Weasley followed. Nobody moved until she called: “He’s gone!”

They spent the rest of the birthday dinner retelling the story of Scrimgeour’s visit and showing off their heirlooms. Seeing as the start of the celebrations had been terribly delayed and the wedding would take place the next day, though, it was all very rushed, and before he knew it, Draco was swiped off into the fireplace without having exchanged a private word with the other three about the events of the day.

He did make good use of his birthday present for Harry, though. With only a short hello to his mother, Andromeda and Ted, he disappeared into his room and contacted Harry via the bracelets. It turned out that Harry wasn’t alone.

“Hermione is up with us in Ron’s room,” Harry informed him. 

“Great, that means we can brainstorm,” Draco nodded, holding the bracelet to his mouth as he spoke. “So, any ideas on hidden meanings for your heirlooms yet?”

“Well, I realised something,” Harry said slowly. “Do you still remember how I caught my first Snitch?”

Draco frowned, trying to dig up that particular memory. “I remember you almost falling to your death because Quirrel hexed your broom,” Draco offered, a little lamely. 

“I almost swallowed that Snitch!” Harry huffed, apparently affronted that Draco had wiped that detail from his memory.

“Alright, alright,” Draco rolled his eyes. “I was a little distracted, worrying about you and all. Blimey.”

“Anyway, when I held the Snitch to my mouth, writing appeared.”

“What did it say?”

“ _ ‘I open at the close.’ _ ”

Draco frowned. “How ominous,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed.

“How about the Deluminator or the book? Any hidden qualities yet?” 

“Nothing,” Harry said. “Not that we saw, at least. How about your necklace?” 

Draco frowned, picking the box up from where he had deposited it on the mattress and removing the lid once more, observing it. “I haven’t tried it out yet,” he admitted. “I’m not sure how it works.”

“Well, you might want to start by wearing it,” Harry suggested helpfully, and Draco rolled his eyes. He picked the necklace up to pull it over his head, holding the glittering stone in his palm. It felt warm to the touch. 

“I’m wearing it,” he told Harry, holding the bracelet to his mouth again. 

“Okay,” Harry said. “Scrimgeour said it would give you, what, ‘short glimpses of people you hold dear’?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded, frowning. “I’ll try holding the stone and think of you, okay? Let’s see what happens. Maybe it’s about intent.”

“Give it a go,” Harry agreed.

Draco closed his eyes and concentrated, his fist closing around the stone.  _ Show me Harry,  _ he thought, and suddenly, a picture flashed into his mind, of Harry in Weasley’s room, lounging on his mattress as Weasley lay stretched out on his bed, clicking the Deluminator and switching the light on and off. Hermione was leaning with her back against the side of Weasley’s, her feet under Harry’s blanket and  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard  _ in her lap as she stared expectantly at the bracelet around Harry's wrist. The Snitch flapped around the room. 

Draco tore his eyes open, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I saw you,” he breathed.

“You did?” Harry asked, sounding excited.

“Yes,” Draco muttered, biting down on a grin. “You need new pyjamas, love. Once this war is over, I’ll gift you some proper ones. Some that didn’t use to belong to Dudley.”

“Prat,” Harry chuckled, voice fond. “That’s… practical, though.”

“Practical, sure,” Draco nodded. “Though I’m not sure how exactly it will help us win a war.”

“Me, neither,” Harry sighed. “If Dumbledore had a plan with any of this, he sure missed the opportunity to reveal it to me.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Draco promised. “We always do, eventually.”

There was a moment of silence before Harry said: “Hermione thinks we should all go to bed… the wedding…”

“Right,” Draco nodded. “Sleep well, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you. Goodnight,” Harry returned, and a moment later, the bracelet stopped glowing, indicating Harry had cut the connection. Draco sighed, glancing at the stone in his palm once more before closing his eyes and thinking of Harry. 

One more glance wouldn’t hurt, he figured. Just before he went to sleep. After all, he had to try out his new heirloom. 


	4. Unexpected Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I hope you're still safe and holding on!! Meanwhile, I'm back with the new chapter and the first part of the wedding! I had to split the proceedings, seeing that the whole thing got out of my hand and turned out way too long. So I hope you'll enjoy the first part of it, because I really, really had a blast writing this bit of the story! :D

Draco stood in front of the mirror the next morning, arranging his dress robes to his satisfaction when his mother’s voice drew him out of his own thoughts.

“When have you become so handsome?” she muttered, leaning against the doorframe as she watched him, a small, nostalgic smile on her face. “I could swear just yesterday you were still that little boy with those too pointy features talking non-stop about that boy he met at school.”

Draco flushed, frowning at her. “And now I’m what?” he challenged. “A grown boy with too pointy features still talking non-stop about the same boy?”

“No,” his mother shook her head. “You’ve become an impressive young man who showed the strength and patience to go after what he wanted, and that included the love of his life.”

“You have to say that,” Draco mumbled. “You’re my mother.”

“Remus was right,” his mother noted, a little sadly. “You really can’t accept compliments at all.”

Draco blinked, unsure how to respond, but apparently, she didn’t expect an answer. Instead, she crossed the room until she stood by his side, touching his shoulder. Draco turned to face her, allowing her to fuss over him. 

“I’m very proud of you, you know,” she said, her tone serene. “I’m not sure why you’re not proud of yourself, but I know that I have an exceptional and unique son, and I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

“I don’t -” Draco frowned, feeling disconcerted at the turn of the conversation. “I -”

“Don’t,” his mother shook her head, smiling and smoothing his hair back. “Just accept my words as they are, for once.”

Draco fell silent, frown still in place, feeling utterly out of his depths. 

“What is this?” his mother asked suddenly, frowning as she reached out to touch the stone on his necklace. Draco blinked, gathering himself.

“Dumbledore left it to me,” Draco muttered. “Apparently, it was a Black family heirloom? It’s called  _ The Truth of the Heart _ , and when you hold it and think of a loved person, you can catch glimpses of them, wherever they are at the moment.”

“I heard of this before,” his mother breathed, her eyebrows risen in surprise. “My mother told me about it, though I’ve never actually seen it before. It was… considered dangerous, within my family, as you can imagine. Families tended to stick together or could easily travel back and forth by magical means, so the only time anyone had any real motivation to use it was when they were in an unhappy marriage and in love with someone… unsuitable.”

“Oh,” Draco said, eyes widening. “So that explains the name. I wondered.”

“Exactly,” his mother nodded. “The use to which the wearer would put it usually revealed a lot about them. Sometimes more than they could ever say in public.” She hesitated, before meeting his eyes. “May I…?”

Draco nodded, pulling the necklace over his head and handing it to his mother. She studied it for a long moment before putting it on herself and holding the stone in her palm, eyes closed. Draco watched her face closely, wondering if she was looking for his father. The thought made him feel strange.

Finally, she opened her eyes again, examining the stone and tracing it with gentle fingers. “This is a very precious gift,” she said. “You should be grateful to Dumbledore. When did he give it to you?”

“Scrimgeour turned up at the Weasleys’ last night,” Draco explained. “It seemed like the thirty-one days were up and the Ministry had to give up what Dumbledore left us, if they wanted to or not.”

Narcissa’s mouth twisted; she had often voiced her opinion on the Ministry’s practices regarding confiscation of heirlooms. She did not comment further this time though as she handed Draco the necklace once more.

“I’m sure it will give you lots of solace on your mission,” she said instead. “You’re leaving tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “Harry’s already getting antsy. We can’t delay him any longer.”

“Be careful,” Narcissa smiled. “Promise me you won’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“Mother, you’ll see me before I take off,” Draco reminded her. “There’s no need for goodbye speeches yet.”

“I know, but there’s the wedding today, and who knows when you’ll be back, and I’m sure you’ll leave early tomorrow, so I want to say this now when we have a quiet moment,” she said with calm determination. “Our family has always had a… knack for surviving, you might say, so I won’t ask you to come back to me. Because deep down, I know you will. I will see you again when all this is over. But please, be as safe as you can. You have a tendency to… devote yourself completely to protecting the people you love, and that’s a marvellous quality. You have no idea how much I adore that side of you. But please don’t forget to take care of yourself as well. I’m sure your Harry would appreciate that as well.”

“All right,” Draco muttered. “I’ll try my best.” He bit his lip, before adding, very quietly: “I’m sorry for leaving you behind, Mother.”

She frowned: “What are you talking about, darling?”

“I’m well aware you left Father only because of me,” Draco shrugged. “And now I’m taking off with Harry. I know it’s selfish of me, but -”

“Draco, stop,” she cut him off. “I left your Father because I wanted to give you your best chance, and it was the right thing to do. I haven’t regretted it for a moment. Truly selfish would be if I now stood in the way of what is best for you, simply because I want you by my side.” She reached out to once race his cheek with her thumb, very gently. “A good mother knows when to let go,” she told him, very seriously. “Your path is with him, and mine isn’t, and that’s okay. We’ll find our way back to each other. I know it.”

“I love you,” Draco whispered, his chest tight.

“I love you, too, my little dragon,” she smiled, and Draco allowed himself to be pulled into a tight, motherly hug. They only broke apart when Dora called his name from the kitchen, announcing her and Remus’ arrival. 

“I have to leave,” Draco sighed, straightening up.

“Have fun, and say hello and congratulations from me,” his mother smiled, straightening his dress robes once more before stepping away. “Now go and turn your boyfriend’s head.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he left the room, joining the rest of his family in the kitchen. Dora was perched up against the counter, snacking on some leftover breakfast scones, and Draco snorted as he saw her.

“You’d think there isn't any food at the wedding,” he commented, making Dora grin.

“Yes, but who knows  _ when _ ,” she whined, rather dramatically.

“It’s a Weasley event,” Remus commented with a smile. “I’m sure we don’t have to worry about food.”

“Well, don’t you look dashing,” Andromeda commented, her eyes on Draco. “Cissy, your boy is really quite a sight.”

“He is, isn’t he?” His mother agreed smugly, taking a seat next to her sister, eyes twinkling. “He wouldn’t believe me when I told him.”

Draco rolled his eyes and ignored them. “Let’s get going,” he said to Remus, and Dora regretfully dropped her half-eaten scone. 

“Have fun, kids,” Ted smiled at them. “Give the Weasleys our warmest regards and the bride and groom our congratulations.”

“Aye, aye,” Dora nodded, saluting her father. “See you tonight, when we drop Draco off.”

“You know, I’m off age,” Draco commented. “I can apparate myself, technically.”

“You’re my baby cousin,” Dora grinned. “Shut up and let me babysit you.”

Remus laughed and Draco rolled his eyes. He did hold out his arm for her to link it with hers for the side-along apparition. 

“See you!” Dora called, and then there was a pulling sensation around his navel and Andromeda’s kitchen dissolved around them. 

They appeared in the Weasleys’ garden, in front of the huge tent they had erected for the wedding. Guests were already streaming into it, and Fred and George were busily showing some of Fleur’s Veela cousins to their seats. Weasley and what looked like one of his relatives lingered near the entrance, and the three of them headed there first. 

“Wotcher,” Dora grinned, making the boys turn to face them, and the moment they did, the unknown Weasley cousin’s eyes widened and he stared at Draco, looking a little as if he’d been hit over the head with a Beater’s bat. Draco felt slightly unnerved. 

“Hey,” Draco said, looking at Weasley. “Where’s Hermione and -” He cut himself off, knowing that Harry’s presence here today was supposed to be a well-guarded secret. 

“Hermione and Ginny are still inside, getting ready,” Weasley answered, eyebrows raised. “And your other half is currently staring at you like a nutjob with his jaw hitting the floor.”

Draco blinked and finally turned back to the unknown Weasley cousin who had flushed all over and was now glaring viciously at Weasley.  _ Now _ he could see a bit of Harry in him, though maybe he was imagining it.

“Oh,” he said, a little sheepishly. “Hi, love. Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Harry muttered, clearly embarrassed. He was tall in this body, taller than he usually was, had short, ginger curls, brown eyes and freckles. “You didn’t know what I would look like.” He cleared his throat. “You look… nice.”

Draco felt hot all over and cleared his throat, too, fumbling nervously with his sleeves. “What is it with everyone today,” he muttered. “You’d think I’d never worn dress robes before.”

“Stop arguing your own gorgeousness, Draco, it’s getting old,” Dora elbowed him, effectively ending the discussion. “By the way, Harry, I’m sorry we took off so suddenly last night…”

As Dora explained the reason for their departure in the face of the Minister’s visit, though, Draco was distracted by an arm slung around his shoulder, and turned to find none other than Ryan at his side, grinning at him.

“Hey there, Captain,” he greeted him.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, a smile spreading over his face.

“I’m the bridesmaid’s plus one,” he shrugged. “You didn’t think Ginny would suffer through this day without a date, did you?”

“She could have mentioned inviting you!” Draco complained, though he felt rather thrilled to have another friendly face around. 

“She probably wanted to mess with you, knowing her,” he chuckled. 

“Sounds like her,” Draco nodded. “So, how has your summer been?”

“Uneventful,” Ryan shrugged. “Yours?”

“A little too eventful,” Draco rolled his eyes, and Ryan grimaced. “Have you heard from anyone else?”

“Yurika and I have been writing back and forth, but she’s coming today, as well, so you can interrogate her yourself.”

“She’s coming, too?” Draco asked, surprised.

“Yup,” he confirmed. “Luna is bringing her. She and her Dad are invited.”

“Maybe I should have stuck around more for the wedding preparation, then I would know this stuff, I think,” Draco mused. “But then again, I was banned from the Burrow for the last couple of days.”

“Oh?” Ryan smirked. “How did you manage that?”

“Never you mind,” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Fine, be like that,” Ryan huffed. “Gin will tell me later. By the way, where’s your permanent shadow?”

“Wouldn’t  _ you _ like to know?” Draco said ominously, and Ryan pouted.

“This whole secrecy thing is lame,” he pointed out. “I  _ will  _ find him eventually. I’m good at riddles.”

“You’re just pigheaded is what you are,” commented a third voice, quite rightfully in Draco’s opinion, and with it, Yurika appeared next to them, hand in hand with an absentmindedly humming Luna. 

“Do you always have to insult me, Haneda?” Ryan complained, putting his free hand to his chest in mock-hurt. “I thought I was your best friend!”

“You’re just the first person I had the misfortune of speaking to at Hogwarts, and I never got rid of you after,” she deadpanned, but she was smiling.

“Hello, Draco,” Luna hummed, blinking at him. “Why aren’t you standing with Harry? He’s looking quite unhappy over there.”

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Of course. No one had factored in Luna Lovegood.

“Where?” Ryan asked, craning his neck. “Where is he, Luna?!”

Luna was just about to open her mouth, but Yurika must have seen the alarm in Draco’s eyes because she jumped to his aid, calling: “Look, sweetie, there are gnomes over there!”

Luna held in, her eyes following the direction Yurika was indicating. “Where?” she asked, sounding excited. 

“There! Come on, let’s have a look.” And with a wink at Draco, Yurika let them off towards the bushes, effectively saving Harry from identification. 

“Wait,” Ryan muttered, sounding disappointed. “Where is he? Tell me!”

Draco snorted and patted his shoulder. He looked over to where Weasley and Harry were still standing with Dora and Remus. They had been joined by another wizard with long blond hair and strange attire, most probably Luna’s father. His suspicion was confirmed when Luna returned a moment later, Yurika in tow, excitedly telling him: “Daddy, look - one of the gnomes actually bit me!” Mr Lovegood then expedited upon a lecture on the benefits of gnome saliva on a wizard’s health, and Draco quickly stopped listening. They soon left to find their seats, along with Remus and Dora, though Ryan lingered, claiming to wait for Ginny. Weasley glowered at him all the while, but he seemed quite unperturbed by the hostility.

A couple more people stopped to chat, most of them Weasley’s relatives. They finally met the famous Aunt Muriel, a meeting that Draco could have done without, to be quite honest, but who was he to judge difficult relatives? 

Amongst everyone who enquired, Harry was introduced as cousin Barny, and no one seemed to question the cover. The Weasley family seemed too big for anyone to remember each and every distant relative. 

They had just survived Muriel, though, as Hermione and Ginny finally graced them with their presence. Weasley greeted Hermione with an earnest: “You look great!”, making Hermione flush in surprise and pleasure. Ryan, too, perked up at the sight of his girlfriend, grinning as he called: “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hey, yourself,” Ginny grinned, standing on her toes to kiss him. She was lucky that Weasley was distracted with Hermione. “Hi, Draco,” she smiled at him as she pulled away. “Well, don’t you clean up nicely - don’t roll your eyes at me, Mister!”

Draco snorted, shaking his head. “You look great, too, Gin,” he said. 

“You bet I do,” she smirked, making Draco laugh. He turned to Hermione next and threw an arm around her. She smiled up at him softly. 

“I love your dress,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said. “You look great, too. Harry can’t take his eyes off you.” Draco wrinkled his nose, and Hermione elbowed him. “So, should we go find our seats?” she suggested. “Most people seem to be here already, right?”

“I’d say so,” Draco nodded. “Judging from the number of empty seats -”

“Hello,” a deep, familiar voice said from behind them, making both of them freeze and turn slowly. They were greeted by a tall, dark-haired man with thick, black eyebrows that were curved in sheepish amusement, his face far more mature than when Draco had last seen him but still clearly recognizable. “Surprise.”

“Viktor!” They called together, voices high and loud, and he laughed at their reaction. Draco immediately moved to pull him into a hug, and Viktor huffed out a surprised breath but squeezed him back tightly.

“What are you doing here?” Draco demanded, pulling away. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? We exchanged letters like a week ago!”

“Fleur invited me,” he shrugged. “And I vanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you certainly managed that,” Hermione breathed, nervously brushing back her hair. Draco noted that her face was very flushed. “How are you?”

“Good,” Viktor smiled at her. “Very good, actually. I just signed a contract in Canada for next season. I got bored vith Germany.”

“Congrats!” Draco grinned. “Which team?” 

“The Newfoundland Puffins in St. John’s,” Viktor shrugged. “They are top three in America and record champion in Canada. They pay good money and I like the climate and the people.”

“Good for you,” Draco nodded, silently relieved that his friend would be so far away from the war raging in Europe.

“Thanks,” Viktor said, catching his eyes. “As alvays, you are velcome to visit venever you vant or need.”

“Thanks. We’ll keep it in mind,” Draco nodded, though it was a blatant lie and he thought Viktor knew that very well. 

“So,” Viktor said, glancing towards the tent’s entrance for a moment, frowning and directing his eyes towards them once more. “Your friend isn’t happy to see me.”

Hermione and Draco both turned to see Weasley and a polyjuiced Harry lingering a few feet from them, clearly waiting, seeming impatient and displeased. Weasley’s ears were red in a clear sign of agitation and Harry seemed strangely exasperated, as well, which threw Draco a little. 

“Don’t mind him,” Hermione said quickly. “He’s just -” She didn’t complete her sentence, though, instead biting her lip, clearly conflicted. Draco decided to put her out of her misery.

“Why don’t I show you to your seat?” Draco offered, clasping his hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “I'll join you later, Hermione.”

Hermione nodded, appearing both relieved and guilty as she joined up with Weasley and Harry. Draco, meanwhile, led Viktor into the tent, stealthily ignoring the way he could feel Harry staring after them.

“Are they together now?” Viktor asked, nodding towards the group they had just left behind. “Hermy-ninny and -”

“Still can’t pronounce the name, huh?” he laughed, shaking his head fondly. “And no, they aren’t together exactly, but… they’re pretty much the definition of ‘it’s complicated’.” Draco sighed. “I’m sorry. She would have been better off with you, to be honest.”

“Don’t apologise,” Viktor shook his head. “She’s vonderful, and I’ll alvays have a veakness for her, but I haven’t been - how do you English say? ‘Pining’? Over her for the past two years. I have moved on, Draco. It’s okay if she did, too.”

“Well, that’s good, then,” Draco smiled. “This might become uncomfortable enough without you moping. No offence.”  Viktor laughed, shaking his head, and they reached his row, Draco indicating the free seat in the middle.  “Let’s chat some more after the ceremony,” he said earnestly. “I really want to catch up.”

“Oh, definitely,” Viktor nodded. “You still owe me a drink, after all.”

“I do?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Viktor smirked. “I mean, I vos right about you and Potter, vosn’t I?”

“Ahhh,” Draco muttered, flushing. “Yeah, right. I’d forgotten about that. Well, I’m a man of honour, so it’s my treat of free, on the house drinks today.”

Viktor snorted, rolling his eyes as Draco grinned innocently. “Vere’s your boyfriend, by the vay?” he asked suddenly, looking around. “Is he not here today?” 

“Oh, he’s disguised, for security reasons,” Draco muttered, grimacing. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Viktor shook his head. “It must be difficult… Tell him I said hello?”

“I will,” Draco nodded, and Viktor clasped him on the shoulder and turned to enter his row. Draco watched him go and then made his way over to where Hermione, Weasley and ‘Barny’ had taken their seats somewhere in the second row. He slipped in between Harry and Hermione, the latter who was in deep conversation with Weasley, and turned to his disguised boyfriend to whisper: “Viktor says hello, though he doesn’t know you’re you.”

Harry only hummed, not meeting his eyes, and Draco frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I thought Weasley was the one who felt unjustly wronged by Viktor?”

“It’s not unjustly,” Harry frowned. “He dated the girl Ron likes. You still hate Cho.”

“I have my reasons for hating Cho Chang and you know that,” Draco hissed. “Viktor, though, has always treated Hermione like a queen. He has never been anything but decent towards us, and he even threw his cards when he realised he wasn’t going to win Hermione’s heart, in the long run. He’s never done anything to earn anybody’s ire.”

“You sure think the world of him,” Harry muttered.

Draco stared at him, taken aback. “Are you  _ jealous _ ?” he asked, shocked. When Harry didn’t answer, Draco gasped. “Oh, Merlin!” he muttered, incredulous. “Harry!”

“Shut it!” he hissed, throwing him an exasperated look. 

“I don’t understand,” Draco deadpanned. “How in Salazar’s name - ?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Harry grumbled.

“Viktor has been rooting for us from day one,” Draco pointed out, feeling slightly hysterical. “I lost a bloody  _ bet _ against him that we’d end up together! He’s as  _ straight  _ as they come! So  _ how _ -”

“He was the first person apart from me you really connected with,” Harry ground out, in a rush. “And I didn’t really understand it, back when it happened. I  _ hated _ it. I didn’t know  _ why _ , back in fourth year, but I didn’t want to share you. Now I know why.”

Draco shook his head, feeling like he’d dropped into an alternate universe. It was one thing to know that Harry had been jealous of Patil, who had actively pursued him. That he was now jealous of  _ Viktor _ , who was as much of a threat as a Flobberworm to a Basilisk, Draco couldn’t wrap his mind around. 

“You do know,” Draco said, in a voice that suggested he was talking to a three-year-old, “that Viktor has never been a danger to you, not since day one?”

“So it’s a coincidence that the only time you really broke with me was through fourth year, when he was around?” Harry challenged.

“Actually, yes,” Draco replied, eyes wide. “He had nothing to do with it. He tried to talk me into forgiving you.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“Harry, you’re acting a little crazy.”

“Can you really blame me?” Harry hissed, glaring at him. “We’re at this wedding, with you looking all gorgeous, and everyone’s busy  _ ogling _ you, even Fleur’s Veela cousins, and then your international Quidditch star friend turns up and you just jump into his arms and I’m here in this stupid  _ disguise  _ and can’t even  _ hold your hand _ or else my cover will blow!”

Draco gulped, watching him silently as Harry took a few gulps of breath, his jaw set.

“Feeling better now?” he asked finally.

“No,” he said stubbornly.

“I’m sorry you feel neglected and… I daresay threatened? Though I’m still not quite sure why,” Draco frowned, shaking his head, “when you’re well aware that my heart has always belonged exclusively to you, you stupid, possessive fool.”

Harry’s expression, at last, softened at those words and he glanced up at Draco. The guilty look in those unfamiliar brown eyes was so strangely Harry that it was stunning. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I guess I am acting a bit mental.”

“You are,” Draco confirmed, smiling. “Good thing that I’m too gone on you to mind much.”

Harry snorted, shaking his head. “I really wished I could hold your hand right now,” he muttered. “And kiss you.”

“Yeah, well,” Draco sighed, a little regretful. “It’s only one night. Hold on.”

Their conversation was then cut short by the music starting up and the ceremony starting. Draco watched the proceeding with a mixture of curiosity and an unexpected sense of tightness in his chest: Curiosity because, though this was by far not his first wedding attendance, the ceremony was far less formal than anything he had ever been party to. He should have expected this, naturally - after all, the Weasleys, while pureblooded and technically part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, was not pureblood elitist and therefore did not take place in the ridiculous rituals Draco had grown up in. Instead, the ceremony was emotional and warm-hearted, making Draco feel strangely shaken as he watched it unfold before him. 

As a child, he had only ever thought of marriage as a part of the Malfoy heritage. He would have to find an appropriate, pureblooded wife and uphold the bloodline. Love had been a secondary consideration in that equation. That had only changed with the introduction of Harry into his life, but even then, he hadn’t really allowed himself to think of marriage in relation to himself - first because he was in love with a boy and obviously that would be one step too far even for his mother; then because Harry would never return his feelings; then because Harry was the bloody Chosen One and who knew if he even survived this war and even if they did, there was no telling how he would feel about him at that point, and -

Harry’s knee pressed against Draco’s, making him look up and meet the other’s gaze. The expression on Harry’s polyjuiced face was strangely intense and harder to read than usual, but there was definitely longing there, and it made Draco’s breath catch. 

It was hard to concentrate on the rest of the ceremony, with the heat of Harry’s leg pressed against his so steadily. 


	5. No Time For Goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! 
> 
> I hope you are all safe and holding on! I am back with the new chapter - part 2 of the wedding, and everything that follows in its direct wake. I hope you'll enjoy it!!

They grabbed a table with Luna, Yurika, Ryan and Ginny after the ceremony - only because Harry and Weasley decisively stirred them away from Viktor, though Draco warned him he  _ would _ talk to him eventually, which he pointedly ignored - but it was not like Draco particularly minded their company. Ryan had by now guessed that ‘Barny’ was, in fact, Harry, and he greeted them with a shit-eating grin, asking them how hard it was to keep their hands off each other for the night lest someone ratted his identity out and blasted the cover. That only earned him a particularly unimpressed glare from Harry, who could look quite menacing as a ginger, Draco was surprised to find, and Ginny took that as her clue to ask her boyfriend to dance.

“You know, your mind is particularly infested with Wrackspurts tonight, Harry,” Luna blinked, watching him closely. “Maybe you should go outside and have the gnomes bite you, too.”

“Thank you, Luna,” Harry frowned. “I… will consider it.”

She nodded gravely, and Yurika leaned in to kiss her cheek. 

“Let’s go and dance, too,” she suggested, picking up her hand to entwine their fingers.

“Oh, yes, let’s!” Luna beamed, jumping up and immediately starting to twirl, causing her girlfriend to giggle.

They were barely gone as Viktor took her seat, frowning after her wearily. Draco could feel Harry tense at his side.

“You know that girl and her father?” he asked carefully.

“Yes,” Draco nodded, raising his eyebrows questioningly. “Why?”

“How vell?”

“She’s a good friend. We only met her father earlier. What’s wrong, Viktor?”

Viktor hesitated before leaning in a little, lowering his voice. “Because that sign he is vearing,” he muttered, eyebrows drawn in displeasure, “that is Grindelvald’s sign.”

Draco’s eyes widened and he blinked at him, frozen.

“You must be mistaken,” Harry said immediately. “Luna is a good friend of ours, and her family would never be associated with the Dark Arts.”

“What is that about Luna?” Weasley asked immediately, perking up, clearly ready to pick a fight. 

“It’s nothing,” Draco cut in quickly, eager to keep Weasley out of this. He caught Hermione’s eyes, and she seemed to get the message.

“Ron, would you care for a dance?” she asked. 

“Oh - sure,” Weasley muttered, turning an unattractive shade of red as he got to his feet and held out his arm for Hermione to take. He threw a victorious glance at Viktor, though the other didn’t pay him any mind. His eyes were on Harry instead.

“Who are you?” he asked, and the justified question made Harry glower at him, for some reason. 

“Barny,” he snapped. “Barny Weasley.”

“I see,” Viktor muttered, turning to Draco again. “Vell, I’m not vrong about the sign. I valked past it for several years, I know it vell.”

“Okay,” Draco murmured, considering that information carefully. “There’s a chance, Viktor, that Luna’s father doesn’t know what it means, or that he thinks it means something different than it does. They are a little strange, the Lovegoods.”

“How so?” Viktor asked, still frowning.

“Well,” Draco grimaced. “For one, they believe in a lot of strange creatures science doesn’t exactly acknowledge. Luna tends to tell all of these stories and... “ Draco bit his lip. “It’s really hard to explain unless you meet her. She means well, and she’s certainly not evil. So I doubt that her father means anything by it.”

Viktor was still frowning, but he nodded, at last. “Alright,” he muttered. “I trust you. But I don’t like it. Grindelvald killed a lot of people. He killed my grandfather. But because it’s been so long, people forget how horrible he vos, and they use the sign again to shock and - I think those people need to be reminded of the horrors he caused, is all.”

“I understand,” Draco nodded. “But I really don’t think Xenophilius Lovegood glorifies Grindelwald. That doesn’t sound like him.”

Viktor’s shoulder sagged and he sighed, clearly relenting, for now. Draco sent him a weak smile. 

“Vell,” Viktor said finally, aiming for a smile as well. “How about that drink you promised me?”

Draco grinned. “Sure,” he nodded, looking around for one of the floating champaign trays. Viktor located one first and beckoned it closer with his wand. It had almost reached their table when Harry blurted out, quite unexpectedly: “Gregorovitch!”

Draco frowned, turning to stare at him, and Viktor, too, held in, utterly confused.

“Vot about him?” he asked, looking around as if expecting the man to turn around the corner any moment. 

“He’s a wandmaker!” Harry pointed out, eyes wide as he stared at Viktor’s wand, obviously experiencing a revelation.

“I know that,” Viktor muttered, clearly thinking Barny Weasley was loonier than the Lovegoods. 

“He made your wand! That’s why I thought - Quidditch…” Harry kept muttering nonsense that didn’t grow any more enlightening, and Draco was about to ask him what was going on but Viktor already had cut in: “How do you know Gregorovitch made my wand?” 

“I… I read it somewhere, I think,” Harry fumbled. “In a - a fan magazine.”

“I had not realised I ever discussed my vand with my fans,” Viktor muttered, sounding even more confused. 

“So… er… where is Gregorovitch these days?” Harry asked, and Draco felt utterly out of his depths with the conversation. Why the sudden interest in Gregorovitch? What was Harry doing?

“He retired several years ago,” Viktor shrugged. “I vos one of the last to purchase a Gregorovitch vand. They are the best - although I know, of course, that you Britons set much store by Ollivander.”

Harry did not answer, obviously lost in thought, and Viktor turned back to Draco. His expression clearly indicated that he wondered about Harry’s sanity, and Draco had to bite his lip. 

“You vant to go get something to eat?” Viktor asked, clearly aiming to get away from Barmy Barny Weasley. 

“Um,” Draco muttered, glancing at Harry sideways, who had apparently woken from his trance to send him a glare. Draco raised his eyebrows at him. Harry’s glare intensified. “We’ll just be gone for a little while?” Draco tried, gulping in the face of Harry’s silent wrath. “You can find someone else to talk to, right?”

Harry’s jaw clenched and he stood wordlessly, disappearing into the crowd. Draco bit his lip, feeling unreasonably guilty. 

“Okay,” Viktor muttered. “ _Who_ is he?!” Draco raised his eyebrows pointedly, and after a few seconds, Viktor’s eyes widened, his lips parting at the realisation. “Oh,” he muttered, cursing in his mother tongue. “Sorry, I did not mean to -”

“It’s alright,” Draco sighed, taking a gulp from his drink. “I’ll talk him down later.”

“Is everything okay vith you two?” he asked carefully. “He seemed…” Viktor did not finish the sentence, but the intent behind the words was obvious. 

“We’re fine,” Draco ensured him. “He’s just… displayed an unexpectedly possessive side today, is all.”

“Oh,” Viktor frowned, gazing into the direction Harry had disappeared into, putting Draco’s words and his behaviour together. “Do you mean… is he jealous of  _ me?!” _

“Believe me, I don’t get it, either,” Draco chuckled. “It’s a mystery.”

“Vell, I understand vy he is vorried someone vould snatch you avay,” Viktor smiled. “You’re a catch, Draco. But you are not my type, sorry.”

“I told him that!” Draco laughed. “Do you think he listened?!”

“Ve are all fools in love,” Viktor shrugged. “You should have just said it vos him, though. I vouldn’t have thought he vos crazy, then.”

Draco snorted, shaking his head. “He’s acting a little crazy tonight,” Draco allowed. “I’m not sure what the Gregorovich thing was about, but I’ll ask him later.”

“I am sure he has his reasons,” Viktor shrugged, emptying his glass. “Now, let’s get some food and more drinks.”

They did ransack the buffet after and spent some more time catching up. Draco spotted Harry eventually at a table with Elphias Dodge and Aunt Muriel, which he found curious, but he didn’t pause the conversation long enough to consider it. It was only when Harry turned up at his side again, obviously bad-tempered, that their chat finally came to an end. 

“It was so nice to see you again, Viktor,” Draco told him in earnest, taking Harry’s expression as his clue to get to his feet. “Maybe you can catch Hermione for a chat now? Annoy Weasley a little. He can take it.”

“Ve’ll see,” Viktor smiled. “I’m so glad ve got to talk. Please take care of yourself, Draco, alright?”

“I will,” Draco nodded, sending him one more smile before turning to Harry, who grabbed his arm and bodily dragged him towards the tent entrance. “What - wait -” he protested, glancing around, but nobody paid them any mind. “What are you doing?!”

He didn’t get an answer, though, at least not a verbal one, until they were outside in the dark shadows, far enough that no one was likely to just stumble in on them without prior notice. Then, Harry turned to him and pulled him into a fierce kiss. Draco made a noise of surprise against his lips, but Harry fisted his hair and bore down on him, for once taller than Draco in this different body, and with some effort, Draco allowed himself to relax into the touch - it felt strange, to be honest, since the person he was kissing didn’t feel or smell or taste like Harry, and a part of him wanted to recoil instinctively, but he reminded himself that the person underneath was still his boyfriend who seemed to need to touch him badly this very moment. So he focused on the way Harry’s hands buried in his hair, a signature move of his, and the urgency of his movements, letting himself melt into them. 

When Harry pulled away, at last, it was to gasp for air, and Draco was clutching at his upper arms to keep himself steady.

“This is weird,” he muttered. “I never signed up for kissing gingers.”

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, without heat.

“Feeling better now?” Draco asked, looking up at him.

“A little,” Harry admitted. He sighed, leaning down to press his face into Draco’s throat and encase him with unusually long arms, holding Draco so tightly that it was a bit hard to breathe. Draco kept silent and let him.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“Upsetting conversation with Muriel,” he murmured against his skin. “About Skeeter’s autobiography.”

“Harry,” Draco sighed. “I told you, you shouldn’t pay any mind to what Skeeter writes.”

“‘s not just Skeeter, though,” he mumbled. “Muriel, too… She said some things, and…” He did not elaborate, but Draco could tell that whatever she’d said had really hit him. Draco sighed, reaching up to run gentle fingers through Harry’s fake ginger curls.

“Does Dumbledore’s past really matter so much?” Draco muttered. “It’s over. He’s dead, Harry. It’s not like he can atone for what he’s done.”

“It matters,” Harry said, decisively. 

The silence stretched on between them until, quite unexpectedly, Draco saw a flash of light through the night sky. 

“What…?” he muttered, making Harry look up. 

The light reached the roof of the tent and glid through it, disappearing from sight. Draco and Harry stared after it, quite stunned when Kingsley’s magnified voice sounded from inside.

_ “The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.” _

Heart racing, Draco caught Harry’s wide eyes. The other boy grasped his hand in a death grip.

“Come on!” he hissed, and then, they were moving, running towards the tent. 

They entered complete chaos. People were disapparating left and right and cloaked figures started appearing - Death Eaters. Draco’s eyes quickly found Hermione, who was pushing her way towards Weasley, who himself was shooting a curse at one of the Death Eaters. He shook his wand into his palm, thanking Dora silently for her useful present, and pulled the still camouflaged Harry across the room. But even with Harry in ginger, Draco was still an easy target, and they were soon face to face with two Death Eaters, their way towards their friends effectively blocked. 

“Hello, Malfoy,” one of the masked men said, voice triumphant. “Your father is waiting for you. Now be a good boy and don’t struggle.”

“You wish,” Draco snorted and shot a stunner at him, which he easily deflected. His counter curse was held off by Harry’s Shield Charm, and then, just as both Death Eaters readied for another attack, they got hit into the back. The one that had taunted Draco got blasted into the tent wall with the force of the spell used on him, and the other one dropped on the spot. Hermione and Weasley hurried towards them in their wake, out of breath.

“Where were you?!” Hermione demanded, her voice panicked.

“Does it matter now?!” Draco called. “We need to leave!”

“Right,” Hermione nodded, grasping onto Draco and Weasley. “Hold on -”

And then, the world pressed in on them and the scene around them disappeared. 

Instead, they found themselves on a crowded street, surrounded by people. Draco craned his head, convinced for a moment that the Death Eaters were still on their heels. 

“Where are we?” Weasley asked.

“Tottenham Court Road,” Hermione muttered. “Walk, just walk, we need to find somewhere for you to change.”

She started walking and they followed her automatically. Draco quickly realised they were in the Muggle world - the flashing lights around them were far too shrill and unnatural to have been produced by magic, and the people around them stared at them strangely for wearing robes. 

“Hermione, we haven’t got anything to change into,” Weasley pointed out. 

“Why didn’t I make sure I had my Invisibility Cloak with me?” Harry cursed next to Draco.

“It’s okay, I’ve got the Cloak, and I’ve got clothes for all of you,” Hermione interrupted them. “Just try and act natural until - this will do.”

‘This’ was a shadowy alleyway which gave them some privacy to change. Hermione produced clothes for all of them from her beaded handbag and explained the charm she had put onto it to Harry and Weasley while Draco gratefully slipped into the shirt she handed him, donning the dress robes. 

Harry was made to wear the cloak, seeing that the Polyjuice was slowly starting to wear off and his hair was steadily turning black, and then they took off again, down the busy Muggle street. 

“Just as a matter of interest, why Tottenham Court Road?” Weasley asked Hermione. 

“I’ve no idea,” she sighed. “It just popped into my head, but I’m sure we’re safer out here in the Muggle world, it’s not where they’ll expect us to be.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Draco agreed, scanning the shops around them. “We should still seek shelter, though. Being out in the open makes me feel antsy.”

“All right, darling?” a drunkard from the other side of the pavement yelled at Hermione. “Fancy a drink? Ditch ginger and blondie and come and have a pint!”

“Yeah, let’s sit down somewhere,” Hermione agreed hastily, since Weasley was already opening his mouth to shout back. “Look, this will do, in here!”

They then entered the most gruesome establishment Draco had visited since the Hog’s Head, but under the circumstances, he wasn’t going to complain. It seemed to be some kind of café, but the shabbiest Draco had ever been to by far, and when they sat, Draco suppressed the need to cast a cleaning charm on the table.

Hermione and Weasley sat next to each other across from him, and Harry slid into the booth next to him, still under the Invisibility Cloak. Draco reached out for his thigh, relieved when he felt the warmth of him. Harry’s hand quickly covered his, and if Draco’s hand disappeared underneath the cloak in the process, it was hidden under the table, so no one would be any wiser.

A crippling silence fell upon them, which was only broken when Weasley suggested they pop into the Leaky Cauldron to find out what was going on, only to be shot down immediately by Hermione and Draco. They ordered drinks when the waitress asked - something Muggle Draco had never heard before and didn’t touch once it was sat down before him - and then Hermione suggested they head for the countryside.

“Once we’re there, we could send a message to the Order,” she whispered.

“We should probably rather contact Andromeda or someone,” Draco shook his head. “Someone who wasn’t at the wedding. We don’t know who they arrested yet.”

“Good thinking,” Weasley nodded, and it spoke volumes for the seriousness of the situation that he agreed with Draco. He took a sip of his drink and made a face. “God, that’s revolting,” he groaned. “Let’s get going, then, I don’t want to drink this muck.”

Hermione opened her bag to look for the Muggle change when Draco glanced over to the only other occupied table in the café. The two workmen sitting there had arrived shortly after they had, and Draco was stunned to find their eyes on them. Draco scanned the face of the one facing him and his heart fell. 

“Death Eaters,” he hissed, his hand tightening on Harry. “There, at the table.”

They all froze, and then, hell broke loose. Curses flew, but with four against two, they had the upper hand, and they overpowered the Death Eaters, knocking them out eventually. The Muggle waitress had fled, which meant they needed to be on the move soon, too, before she returned. 

“Thank God you recognised them, Draco,” Hermione whispered, helping Weasley up from the ground. He had been thrown down by a curse but appeared unharmed. 

“I should have reacted sooner,” he muttered, staring down at the unconscious bodies. “Rowle walked in and out of the Manor all the time.”

“I didn’t recognise him, either,” Harry muttered, frowning. “He was there the night Dumbledore died.”

“That’s Dolohov,” Weasley said. “I recognise him from the old wanted posters.”

“Never mind what they’re called!” Hermione shrieked. “How did they find us?!”

Draco exhaled shakily and shrugged. “I have no idea,” he breathed.

“Lock the door,” Harry advised, in his no-nonsense voice, and Draco felt warmth spread through him. Harry calmness was exactly what he needed right now. “and Ron, turn out the lights.”

Weasley did exactly as Harry asked, no protests, and Draco suspected that they were all as relieved as he was that Harry was taking charge. “What are we going to do with them?” Weasley asked eventually, referring to the unconscious Death Eaters in their midst. “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.”

“We can’t,” Draco said immediately. “We’ll leave a trail if we do.”

“He’s right,” Harry agreed. “We just need to wipe their memories. It’s better like that, it’ll throw them off the scent.”

“You’re the boss,” Weasley shrugged.

“Hermione, you do the memory charm,” Draco said. “You know most about them by now.”

Hermione gulped, looking very pale, but she stepped up and raised her wand. Draco quickly turned around to start clearing the place from all damage, and Harry came to his aid. As soon as the café was restored to its prior condition and Dolohov and Rowle were propped up in their booth, the four of them unlocked the café and left the place before the waitress returned. With some luck, people would think she had fallen asleep and dreamt up the episode.

“But how did they find us?” Hermione asked again as soon as they were out on the streets. “How did they know where we were?” She bit her lip and turned to Harry before asking, very tentatively: “You - you don’t think you’ve still got your Trace on you, do you, Harry?”

“Impossible,” Draco said immediately. “They would have found him before now if he had.”

“The Ministry hadn’t fallen before tonight,” Hermione reminded him.

“The Trace breaks at seventeen,” Weasley shook his head, eyes wide. “That’s Wizarding Law. You can’t put it on an adult.”

“As far as you know,” Hermione argued. “What if the Death Eaters have found a way to put it on a seventeen-year-old?”

“Let’s say they have, just for argument's sake,” Draco said. “The Ministry was infiltrated for a long time, and now it’s fallen. Law’s can change. But someone must have gone near Harry to put the Trace on him.”

“Exactly!” Weasley called. “He hasn’t been near a Death Eater in the last twenty-four hours!”

“But I was,” Harry said, very quietly. “When we duelled, at the wedding…”

“You were still polyjuiced!” Draco called. “They didn’t know it was you!”

Harry didn’t respond. There was a long silence between them until finally, he muttered: “If I can’t use magic, and you can’t use magic near me, without us giving away our position…”

“Oh, shut up, I’m not listening to this!” Draco interrupted, his temper flaring. 

“We’re not splitting up, Harry,” Hermione said firmly. 

“We need a safe place to hide,” Weasley pointed out. “Give us some time to think things through.”

“Grimmauld Place,” Harry suggested, making all of them fall silent and stare at him incredulously. 

“Don’t be silly, Harry, Snape can get in there!” Hermione reminded him.

“Ron’s Dad said they put up jinxes against him - and even if they haven’t worked, so what? I swear, I’d like nothing better than to meet Snape!”

“Merlin in Avalon,” Draco muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“Where else is there?” Harry hissed, glaring at them. “It’s the best chance we’ve got! Snape’s only one Death Eater. If I’ve still got the Trace on me, we’ll have whole crowds of them on us wherever else we go.”

And as much as Draco wanted to, he couldn’t argue with that logic. Neither, it seemed, could Hermione and Weasley, so they ended up apparating a second time, this time to a square in front of an old brick wall building. He had just enough time to take in the numbers 11 and 13 above the front doors to their left and right before Harry stepped up to the house and the foundations of the building shifted, making room for an extra house in its midst. Number 12. 

“Crafty,” Draco muttered, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like my family was properly paranoid.”

“Thank Merlin they were,” Harry muttered. “Let’s go.”

They rushed up to the newly revealed front door, and Draco kept glancing over his shoulder, making sure they weren’t being followed, but they seemed, as of now, quite alone. Harry unlocked the door with a tap of his wand and practically pushed them inside. He was the last one to enter, pulling the door closed behind him, which immediately locked once more. 

As soon as the door fell shut, the lights turned on in the hallway, and Draco flinched, reaching out for Harry’s hand instinctively. Harry squeezed it, and Draco took a shaky breath.

There were house-elf heads on the walls, and at the end of the corridor, a portrait was hanging on the wall, covered by long, filthy linen. An umbrella stand that looked like a troll leg was lying on the floor. 

“I think somebody’s been in here,” Hermione whispered. 

“That could’ve happened as the Order left,” Weasley noted. 

Draco shook out his arm until his wand landed in his palm. His hand was shaking but he made the spell work, anyway.  _ “Homenum Revelio,” _ he breathed, feeling the magic flowing out of him and into the house, not giving a favourable response. He breathed out in relief. “We’re alone,” he said.

“You sure?” Harry checked. 

“Positive,” Draco nodded.

“Seems like the spells the Order cast work,” Harry muttered.

“Yeah, about that,” Weasley frowned, “shouldn’t we have run into those by now?”

“Maybe they only activate if Snape shows up?” Hermione suggested.

“Only one way to find out,” Harry shrugged and pushed past Draco into the corridor, despite Draco’s muffled protest.

There was an immediate reaction to Harry movement. They heard Moody’s voice whispering:  _ “Severus Snape?”,  _ making Harry freeze in his tracks and cling to Draco’s hand.

“We’re not Snape!,” Harry gasped, and then they got hit by a wave of magic; the Tongue-Tying Curse, Draco realised, as his tongue seemed to roll in on itself. Next, they were approached by a shadowy figure from the end of the corridor. 

Hermione screamed. Draco panicked, drawing his wand and trying to pull Harry backwards. The linen fell from the portrait at the end of the corridor and the woman in the picture started to throw loud insults at them. 

“No!” Harry shouted. “No! It wasn’t us! We didn’t kill you -”

Only then did Draco recognise the horrible likeness - or unlikeness - to their former Headmaster. The realisation struck Draco the same moment the figure dissolved into a cloud of dust, leaving them all coughing. 

Hermione was crouching on the floor, shielding her head with her arms. Weasley was bending down, shakily offering comfort. Draco, too, was trembling, and he was still clinging to Harry. The woman in the painting was the only one still shouting bloody murder, and Harry yelled at her to shut up, directing his wand at the portrait and covering it with the linen once more. Then, he turned to Draco, catching his eyes. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” he breathed, gulping. “You?”

Harry nodded, grimly, before turning to Weasley, who was just helping Hermione to her feet. 

“That… that was…” Hermione mumbled, sounding close to tears. 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “but it wasn’t really him, was it? Just something to scare Snape.”

They then proceeded into the house, making sure that Draco’s spell hadn’t been lying, but they were truly quite alone. They couldn’t see anyone outside, either - which probably meant that Harry didn’t have the Trace on him, or else they’d have been able to follow them here. 

They made their way into the sitting room, Hermione and Weasley taking the dusty sofa and Draco reluctantly sitting on the armchair, watching Harry, who seemed too restless to sit. 

“All right,” Draco muttered, drawing his wand again. “I’ll contact Andromeda. With any luck, Dora will have made it back with news and -”

But then, Harry cried out, his hand flying to his forehead. Draco jumped out and caught his wrist. 

“Harry?” he breathed. “Are you okay?”

“What did you see?” Weasley called, on his feet now, too. “Did you see him at my place?”

Draco flashed him a glare because was that  _ really  _ the first question to ask?! But Harry was already answering, murmuring: “No, I just felt anger - he’s really angry -”

“But that could be at the Burrow,” Weasley called. “What else? Didn’t you see anything?”

“He’s not a crystal ball, Weasley!” Draco hissed. “It doesn’t work that way!” With jerky movements, he reached his free hand up to his neck and reached for his necklace. He pulled it over his head and threw it at Weasley with a little too much force, causing it to almost hit the other boy in the face. He just managed to bring up his hands to catch it. “Use that!” he hissed. “You can see them like that without harassing Harry!”

Hermione, though, seemed to be somewhere else with her thoughts. “He shouldn’t be using the connection at all,” she cut through their discussion, clearly fretting. “We know how dangerous that is.”

“Oh bloody hell, Hermione, will you please shut up!” Draco yelled, making her flinch. “He can’t control it! Stop making this about you!” He turned back to Harry, who was still pressing his fist to his forehead, eyes clenched shut and deadly pale. He reached out to gently cup his cheek. “Harry?” he whispered. “Breathe, okay?”

Harry took a shuddering breath but didn’t speak. It looked like he was going to be sick. 

The moment was disrupted by a light bursting through the wall and into the room. Hermione screamed and Draco jumped until he realised that it was just a Patronus. 

A weasel, to be exact, and it stopped in the middle of the room and opened its snout to speak in Mr Weasley’s voice.  _ “Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched.” _

The Patronus dissolved and Weasley sank to the couch with a groan of relief, Draco’s necklace still in hand. He couldn’t care less about it, for now. He would use it later to check on Dora and Remus. It was probably too dangerous to send a Patronus, anyway. Maybe they were being watched, too. 

Draco’s eyes were back on Harry, though, whose face was pinched once more. “Bathroom,” he muttered, stepping away from Draco abruptly and stumbling out of the room. 

Draco’s jaw clenched and he turned to Hermione, who was sitting with Weasley again, a hand on his shoulder. Both were watching Harry go, clearly wary. 

“I’m going after him,” he told them. “Don’t follow.”

“It’s his scar,” Hermione breathed. “The connection should have closed, Draco. He can't use it.”

“Don’t!” Draco snapped, furious with her. “Stop making him feel bad for being unable to occlude! We know he tried, but he just can’t, and there’s no changing it now. We have to deal with it. So stop bloody guilt-tripping, Hermione, it’s not helping!”

She had the decency to look abashed at his words, which satisfied him as he turned to follow Harry out of the room and down the hall. He took a moment to find the next bathroom, only identifying it because the door was locked. 

“Harry!” Draco called, knocking on the door. “Come on, let me in! Please?”

It took a moment and then, there was a shuffling sound before Harry unlocked the door and opened it. He was breathing heavily and his face was almost grey, but he did not protest when Draco wrapped him into a tight embrace, holding him close to his chest for a long moment. Rather, he sagged against him, as if his strings had been cut. 

“He’s torturing Rowle and Dolohov,” Harry muttered into his shoulder. 

“Does he know we were at that café?” Draco asked gently.

“I think so,” Harry whispered. “He’s furious with them.”

“Of course he is,” Draco nodded, reaching up to stroke his sweaty mop of black hair. “He doesn’t know where we are now though, does he?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“That means we can rest for tonight.” 

“I don’t know if I can,” Harry whispered.

“Let’s try,” Draco urged, turning his head to kiss his temple. “We’ll need our strength.”

Harry sighed and finally nodded. 

They decided to all sleep in the sitting room, the boys on sleeping bags on the floor and Hermione on the couch. Weasley had put up camp right at the foot of the couch and they were talking softly as they were getting ready for bed. Harry was in the bathroom once more, changing and brushing his teeth, and Draco had put their sleeping bags right next to each others'. He was going to stay close to Harry tonight. 

“Malfoy,” Weasley said softly, making Draco look up. The other boy held up his necklace, and when Draco held out his hand, he threw it across the space separating them. Draco caught it easily, weighing the heirloom in his hand. “Thank you,” Weasley said, clearing his throat. 

“No problem,” Draco shrugged. He put the necklace on again and held the stone in his hand, closing his eyes and focusing on Dora and Remus. Soon, a picture of them came up in his mind, of them in their sparsely furnished kitchen, talking quietly and with serious faces. Draco gulped, thinking of Andromeda, and the picture changed to the Tonkses living room, where his aunt and Ted were sitting on the sofa, both looking just as worried as their daughter and son-in-law. Again, he let his focus shift, this time to his mother, because she had not been with his aunt, like he’d expected her to be. Instead, he found her sitting in some unknown parlour, alone, looking out over the sea. Draco realised she must have already fled to whichever safe house she had prepared. 

He opened his eyes when Harry entered the room again, looking completely beat. He lowered himself to sit down on the sleeping bag next to Draco’s, just looking at him. He seemed so lost that Draco couldn’t help but reach out to brush his cheek tenderly, hoping to comfort.

“It will be alright,” he whispered. “You’ll see.”

Harry didn’t answer. He did lie down when Draco suggested it, though, and left his sleeping bag unzipped so Draco could wrap himself around Harry in an embrace, his head resting on the other boy’s shoulder. He was aware that he was bound to kick his own sleeping bag off by not zipping it properly but he was willing to take that chance. He just wanted to be close to Harry. 

“Goodnight,” Hermione said timidly.

“‘Night,” Weasley said, getting the lights with his Deluminator.

“Sleep well,” Draco said. 

Harry remained quiet, though Draco knew he wasn’t sleeping yet. He moved a little closer to him and buried his nose in his neck, comforted when he could feel his pulse. 


	6. Draco's Other Brave Cousin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the next chapter and the events at Grimmauld Place. I have to admit, back when I wrote it, this sequence gave me a bit of trouble. I hope you'll enjoy it, despite the mess it was to write :)

Draco woke the next morning to Harry carefully clambering out of his embrace. His first instinct was to cling on - his brain was fuzzy and he was comfortable and Harry was warm against him - but then he realised that Harry most probably needed to go to the bathroom, so he reluctantly relinquished his grip and allowed the other boy to slip away. 

He kept his eyes closed, trying to slip back into oblivion, but sleep wouldn't come, so he opened his eyes with a put-upon sigh, blinking up into the darkness of the room. He could not tell what time it was - there seemed to be no natural light sources in this house, making it impossible for him to tell the time. From the deep breaths to his left, he could tell that Hermione and Weasley were still asleep. If he strained his eyes, he could make out Hermione’s body on the sofa, with her arm hanging off the edge, her hand resting just close enough to Weasley’s for Draco to assume they had fallen asleep holding hands. He smiled, rather grimly. About time. 

He lay there waiting for a minute or two, before realising that Harry wasn’t returning. He frowned and quietly slipped out of their combined sleeping bags as well, tip-toeing out of the room. Once he was in the hallway, he lid up the tip of his wand and went searching for Harry. He tried the bathroom first, but it was unlocked and empty. He systematically tried every room after, unfamiliar with the house, his panic growing with each empty room he encountered. 

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” he muttered, before coming to a hold and drawing his necklace out from underneath his sleeping shirt. He closed his eyes and held the stone in his hand, his mind focusing on Harry. The necklace procured an image of the other boy in an unfamiliar room amidst of chaos, sitting on the floor and staring at a piece of parchment, face distraught.  _ Well, at least he didn’t leave _ , Draco thought, before he felt a pull in his chest, leading him up the stairs. Draco’s brows rose as his eyes flew open, but the pull remained, growing more insistent, so he followed it, wondering if this was another feature of the necklace he hadn’t discovered yet. Would _The Truth of The Heart_ lead you to your loved ones as well, if they happened to be closeby? It appeared so, because after Draco had ascended the stairs, the pull led him down a corridor and to the right until he stood in front of a door with a nameplate that read “ _ Sirius”. _ Understanding washed over Draco, and he knocked once before turning the doorknob and pushing the door open. 

Just as he had been in his vision, Harry was sitting on the ground, looking up at Draco with the old parchment he had been reading still in hand. His eyes were red-rimmed and Draco was sure he had been crying. His heart fell and he crossed the distance between them, shoving a couple of books aside so he could sit next to him and lean against his side. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “What do you have there?”

“It’s from my Mum,” Harry muttered, his voice raw, and Draco’s chest hurt for him. Harry handed him the letter, and Draco took it, reading over it. It was a letter to Sirius, maybe her last, following Harry’s first birthday. It created a small window into the lives Harry’s parents had led before they'd died - taking care of the whirlwind toddler Harry had been, having tea with Bathilda Bagshot, James Potter growing frustrated with being cooped up in their house. The letter was incomplete, though - just when Lily had reported something Bathilda Bagshot had mentioned about Dumbledore, the page ended. It was clear from Harry’s devastation and the state of the room that he hadn’t found the second page, so Draco did not ask. 

Wordlessly, he slung an arm around Harry’s shoulder, pulling the other boy against him, and Harry went willingly, burying his face in Draco’s hair. “She makes her g’s the same way I do,” Harry murmured, and the deep sadness of those words made Draco’s eyes burn. 

“She does,” Draco agreed, glancing at the page in his hand. “She sounds a lot like you, too. I think you’re more like her than you know.” Harry made a choked sound and Draco dropped the letter into his lap, wrapping both his arms around Harry and holding him. “I’m so sorry, Harry,” he breathed. “It’s not fair, I know.”

Harry didn’t reply. He just clung to Draco and cried, and Draco let him. It took a long time for him to move away in an attempt to pull himself back together, and even then Draco stayed close, touching his hair or his arm as Harry took shaky breaths and wiped his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry muttered.

“Don’t be,” Draco shook his head. “You don’t allow yourself to grieve very often.”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up the letter again, staring at it. “Why do you think Dumbledore had my Dad’s Invisibility Cloak?” he asked, and there was an edge to his voice now.

Draco frowned. It was something Lily had mentioned in the letter - about James being frustrated because he couldn’t leave the house since Dumbledore had the Cloak. “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

“He doesn’t need a cloak to become invisible,” Harry said.

“Maybe someone else did,” Draco shrugged. “Regardless, I don’t think it would have helped your father the night the Dark Lord attacked. He knew your parents were there. Hiding under the cloak wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“You don’t know that!” Harry hissed.

“It’s very unlikely,” Draco said gently, leaning in to kiss his temple. “And I think if you go down that road now, it can’t be good for you. Resentment isn’t a very productive emotion to have, Harry.”

Harry didn’t answer at first, but then, he continued, as if he hadn’t heard Draco: “What do you think Bathilda Bagshot told my mother?” 

“Oh, Harry, how would I know?” he sighed. “For all we know, it could have been that he failed his Potions OWL.” Harry glowered at him, and he tugged at his hair gently. “Stop obsessing over Dumbledore,” he pleaded. “I know you’re upset that there’s so much you didn’t know about him, but we have so many other things to focus on.”

Harry’s jaw was set, indicating that he had other ideas, but he didn’t get to voice them, because in that moment, panicked calls were to be heard from downstairs. 

“Harry? Draco? Where are you?”

“Up here, in Sirius’ old room,” Draco called back. He smoothed a hand over Harry’s hair and kissed his forehead. “You alright?” he murmured, his voice low, and Harry nodded, though he didn’t meet his eyes. 

A moment later, Hermione burst through the door, ranting about waking up to them out of bed and not knowing where they were. Draco quickly proceeded to talk her down, trying not to mention the letter, which he saw Harry stuffing into his pocket hastily. 

“What were you doing in here?” Hermione huffed eventually, looking for Draco to Harry.   
  
Harry shrugged, not giving an explanation, and maybe, Draco figured, he didn’t need one. Instead, he said: “It looked like this before I came in. Someone searched it.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Hermione frowned. “Every room we looked into on the way up had been disturbed. What were they after, do you think?” 

“Information on the Order, if it was Snape,” Harry shrugged.

“He was part of the Order,” Draco frowned. “He should have known all there is to know up until they evacuated.”

Harry opened his mouth but was cut off when Weasley called: “Hermione! Harry! I think I’ve found R.A.B.!”

_ “What?!” _ Draco demanded, blinking like a goldfish. “You can’t be -”

But nobody was listening to him, because the other two were already rushing out of the room, and Draco had no choice but to follow after them. They found Weasley in the corridor outside Sirius’ room, pointing at a door Draco had passed to get to Harry. 

“What in Merlin’s name -” Draco began, but Weasley cut him off quickly.

“Shut up and read, Malfoy,” Weasley rolled his eyes, so Draco pursed his lips and focused on the words carved on the sign gracing this particular door.  _ ‘Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black,’ _ it read. 

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” Hermione repeated, sounding stunned. “R.A.B.. You don’t think - ?”

“He was a Death Eater,” Harry muttered. “Sirius told me about him, he joined up when he was really young and then got cold feet and tried to leave - so they killed him.”

“That fits!” Hermione gasped. “If he was a Death Eater, he had access to Voldemort, and if he became disenchanted then he would have wanted to bring him down!”

“So, you think it’s still here somewhere?” Draco asked, stunned that again, a member of his family had been instrumental in one way or another.

“Let’s find out,” Harry said, pushing at the door. It was locked. Draco drew his wand and shot an  _ ‘Alohomora’ _ at it, allowing Harry to open it, at last. 

The room was just as messy as Sirius’ room had been, with things scattered all over the place, clearly having been searched before. Draco was only thankful that Dumbledore hadn’t shared the Dark Lord’s secret with anyone but Harry, or else the locket might already have been lost to them. As it was, they went to work, but they quickly found that their search was fruitless. They found magazine clippings of the Dark Lord’s early days and lots of useless crap that made up the life of a cousin Draco had never met. 

“It could be somewhere else in the house, though,” Hermione noted, when they started to grow weary. “Whether he’d managed to destroy it or not, he’d want to keep it hidden, wouldn’t he? Remember all those awful things we had to get rid of when we were here the last time? That cloak that shot bolts at everyone and those old robes that tried to strangle Ron; Regulus might have put them there to protect the locket’s hiding place, even though we didn’t realise at… at…” she froze, trailing off mid-sentence, clearly having remembered something. 

“What?” Draco asked sharply, watching her closely.

“There was a locket,” she said, at last.

“What?!” Harry and Weasley called, in sync. 

“In the cabinet in the drawing-room. Nobody could open it. And we… we…”

Draco looked from Hermione to Harry to Weasley, and a matching expression of horror had settled onto the faces of his three friends.

“You what?!” he called, hating to be left out of the loop.

“Kreacher nicked loads of stuff back from us,” Harry said, ignoring Draco completely. “He had a whole stash of stuff in his cupboard in the kitchen. C’mon.”

And then, he was running, and they had no chance but to chase after him, down the stairs and past his aunt’s portrait, who immediately began screaming. They ignored her, continuing on towards the basement until they reached the shabby kitchen. Weasley threw the door shut behind them, muffling the noise. 

Harry was already halfway across the room, making his way towards a cupboard. When he reached it, he wrenched the wooden door open, revealing a bundle of foul-smelling, dirty blankets and a book titled  _ ‘Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy.  _ Harry picked up the blankets and shook them out, but the only thing that revealed was the corpse of a dead mouse. 

Weasley groaned and sunk into a kitchen chair. Hermione closed her eyes. Draco reached out for Harry’s arm, suppressing the urge to cast a cleaning charm on him first. 

“It’s not over yet,” Harry said, dropping the blankets and whirling around, dislodging Draco’s hand in the process. “Kreacher!”

And with a loud cracking sound, an ancient house-elf appeared in the kitchen, glaring at Harry as if he was he was the greatest insult he had ever gazed upon. 

“Master,” the elf sneered, mock bowing and muttering under his breath, “back in my mistress’ old house with the blood traitor Weasley and the Mudblood -”

“I forbid you to call anyone ‘blood traitor’ or ‘Mudblood’,” Harry snapped.

Kreacher glared at Harry only for a moment but his eyes wandered to Draco then, looking him up and down. “And he brought another one of his friends to desecrate the mistress’ house. Who is he, Kreacher wonders? He has never seen him before.”

“I’m your mistress’ great-nephew, Draco Malfoy,” he introduced himself, eyes narrowing. 

“Narcissa’s son?” he asked, eyes widening. “Mistress liked her nieces Miss Cissy and Miss Bella very much,” he told them, but then his eyes narrowed again. “Master Draco, though, has been keeping company unbefitting of his status. Kreacher has heard the people in this house talk about him, yes, he has. Helping Harry Potter and his friends. My mistress would be so disappointed.”

“Well, good,” Draco said, rather grimly. “Seems like I’ve become the man I wanted to be.”

Kreacher’s eyes widened and he looked scandalised. 

“I’ve got a question for you,” Harry said, before he could start insulting Draco, “and I order you to answer it truthfully. Understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Kreacher snarled, bowing low again. He was still glaring at Draco as he did. 

“Two years ago, there was a big gold locket in the drawing-room upstairs. We threw it out. Did you steal it back?”

Silence. Kreacher straightened up and looked at Harry defiantly before saying: “Yes.”

“Where is it now?” Harry demanded, breathless now. Draco bit his lip, watching the elf closely as he closed his eyes, as if pained by the reality of his words.

“Gone.”

“Gone?” Harry called, incredulous. “What do you mean, it’s gone?” 

And then, Kreacher proceeded to tell them that Mundungus Fletcher had stolen it during one of his robberies. They then had to proceed in saving him from himself before he dramatically offed himself with a poker for disobeying his Master Regulus’ orders. Honestly, house-elves. 

It was only after Harry ordered Kreacher to tell them everything that they finally heard the whole story. Apparently, Regulus Black volunteered Kreacher when the Dark Lord had requested a house-elf to place the locket into its hiding place. Kreacher had not been meant to survive, but had been able to apparate out of there when called by his Master. Once Regulus had heard his servant's retelling, he had asked Kreacher to take him back to that place, had drunk the potion to get to the locket and had asked Kreacher to escape with it and destroy it, leaving him to die in that cave. Kreacher, though, had never managed to destroy the Horcrux, so he had kept it hidden until the Order had arrived. At the end of his story, Kreacher was in hysterics, tears running down his face from reliving the worst moments of his life, and from revealing his own failure to others. They watched him for a while, quite speechless. Hermione had tears in her eyes as well. 

“I don’t understand you, Kreacher,” Harry said, at last. “Voldemort tried to kill you, Regulus died trying to bring Voldemort down, but you were still happy to betray Sirius to Voldemort? You were happy to go to Bellatrix and pass information to Voldemort through her…”

“Harry, Kreacher doesn’t think like that,” Hermione interrupted him. “He’s a slave; house-elves are used to bad, even brutal treatment; what Voldemort did to Kreacher wasn’t that far out of the common way. What do wizard wars mean to an elf like Kreacher? He’s loyal to people who are kind to him.”

“She’s right,” Draco sighed. “Look at Dobby. He wasn’t loyal to Father because he treated him like scum. But to me? He was pretty loyal to me when it mattered. And it was the same with Regulus and Sirius, I’d assume. Sirius hated this house, and Kreacher was part of it. I’m sure he’s never been particularly fond of him. But Regulus, on the other hand, or maybe even great-aunt Walburga… They must have been very pleasant when they wanted to be. And honestly, what Regulus did, it went beyond that. He died protecting Kreacher.”

“Also, he never explained to Kreacher that he’d changed his mind about Voldemort,” Hermione pointed out. “And I think I know why. Kreacher and Regulus’ family were all safer is they kept to the old pureblood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all.”

“What is it with your family,” Weasley muttered, eyes narrowed as he stared at Draco. “You guys keep going on these secret hero missions all on your own to save people you care about. It’s pretty suicidal.”

“Yeah, well,” Draco said weakly. “Must be a family trait.”

Silence fell upon them again, and finally, Harry said, with great hesitance: “Kreacher, when you feel up to it… Please sit up.” With the encouragement of Hermione, he then proceeded to kindly ask Kreacher to track down Mundungus so they could get back the locket and “finish the work Master Regulus started.” Then, he topped it off by bestowing the fake locket Regulus had placed in the cave to Kreacher as his own keepsake, making the elf burst into another fit of hysterical tears. Though Draco figured, it was a good start at building bridges. If they didn’t want Kreacher betraying them, making him loyal to them was a priority. 

When he’d finally calmed down enough to embark upon his mission and they were left to their own devices once more, they were tentatively hopeful.

“It shouldn’t take him too long to find Mundungus,” Weasley said confidently. “The bloke is a klutz.”

“The bloke is also some kind of Nocturn Alley overlord,” Draco frowned. “We shouldn’t underestimate him.”

“I’ll give him until tonight,” Weasley rolled his eyes. “And that’s when Kreacher is slow.”

But there were no news from Kreacher that night, when Hermione tried some feeble transfiguration spells on the bread in the kitchen to make it edible again, nor the following day, or the day after. Draco felt like saying ‘told you so’, but he wasn’t particularly smug, so he let it go. 

Cloaked figures had started standing watch in front of the door. They were clearly Death Eaters, but they also clearly didn’t know that the four of them were currently inside the building, or else the amount of security would have been completely different. Two single Death Eaters were surely a mere precaution, though it was a stark reminder that their enemies were literally on their doorstep, waiting for them to mess up. 

The mood between them grew tenser each day they waited. Weasley had taken to obsessively fiddling with his Deluminator, turning the lights out everywhere, ticking off Hermione, who was reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard cover to cover, looking for clues. 

Harry, on the other hand, had grown very distant, even from Draco, and it made Draco nervous. Every time he reached out to Harry, the other seemed to pull away or leave the room. Even at night, he usually curled away from Draco - they had started using real beds, their backs complaining after two nights on the hard floor - leaving an unnatural amount of space between them on the mattress. And after a while, Draco stopped trying to reach out for him, feeling stupid and horribly inadequate. 

So when a couple of days in, none other than Remus Lupin appeared at Grimmauld Place, the reprieve they felt at seeing a friendly face was palpable. Despite the initial scare at having been discovered at their hideout, they soon relaxed into the conversation, grateful about the news from the outside world he brought with him. It seemed like thanks to Kingsley’s warning, most people had gotten away just fine at the wedding, and now, they all had Death Eaters and Ministry employees alike tailing them. They had searched Order related houses for information on Harry, including the Burrow and Andromeda’s, but had come up with nothing. They had been rough, though, as he told them. They used the Cruciatus Curse on Andromeda and Ted, as Draco was horrified to hear. He wondered if the Death Eaters had any clue that they had housed Narcissa and Draco for any length of time. 

The Ministry had also gone through a dramatic change in policy, as Remus reported. Pius Thicknesse, who was under the Imperius Curse, had taken over for Scrimgeour. The official version was that Scrimgeour had resigned, though they of course knew this was a lie to keep the fact that the Ministry had been taken over from the public. The new direction Thicknesse had taken on should have made that fact so painfully obvious for everyone, though, that Draco questioned the intelligence of wizardkind. For one, Harry was now officially wanted for questioning about the night Dumbledore died. And for another, the Ministry had started to round up Muggleborns and accuse them of having stolen their magic from someone else, since magic could only be passed down through the bloodline - something which they all knew for a fact to be untrue. 

“People are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted,” Remus sighed. “Voldemort is playing a very clever game. Declaring himself might have provoked open rebellion: remaining masked has created confusion, uncertainty and fear.”

“And by attacking Harry, the figurehead of the rebellion, and insinuating that he had something to do with Dumbledore’s death, he planted further doubt in people’s minds,” Draco realised, biting back a curse. 

“Exactly,” Remus nodded. He hesitated for a moment, then he said: “I’ll understand if you can’t confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.”

“He did,” Harry nodded. “Draco, Ron and Hermione are in on it, and they’re coming with me.”

“Can you confide in me what the mission is?” Remus asked.

Draco looked at Harry, saw the conflict in his expression as he shook his head. “I can’t, Remus, I’m sorry, “ he said. “If Dumbledore didn’t tell you, I don’t think I can.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Remus frowned. “But I might still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you and provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to.”

“Come with us?” Draco asked, blinking in confusion. “You mean, you and Dora?”

At that, Remus shifted in his seat. “No,” he answered, very softly. He did not look at him. “Just me.”

“But what about Tonks?” Hermione asked.

“What about her?” Remus returned, an edge to his voice.

“Just the fact that you’re married,” Draco shot back, slightly annoyed now. “You know, that ring on your finger?”

“Tonks will be perfectly safe,” Remus glared at him. “She’ll be at her mother’s house.”

“Oh, you mean the place that was searched only a couple of days ago? When Andromeda and Ted were tortured? Yes, sounds safe to me!” Draco snapped. 

“She’ll be safer without me around, Draco!” Remus hissed. 

“Not  _ that  _ again!” Draco rolled his eyes. “If this is you pulling the werewolf card again -”

“She’s pregnant!” Remus yelled, cutting him off. A heavy silence fell upon them. 

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, stunned.

“Tonks is going to have a baby,” Remus explained, his voice heavy. “And I think, under the circumstances, it will be much better for both Tonks and the baby if I’m nowhere near them. I have already made them outcasts.”

“So you’re going to just leave them?” Harry asked, and there was something dark in his voice. Draco could sense danger in that tone. 

“You don’t understand!” Remus called. “You’ve only seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts! You don’t know how most of the Wizarding World sees creatures like me!”

“Dora doesn’t care about that, and you know it,” Draco muttered. “She made her choice. She knows what she’s doing. Stop treating her like a child.”

“Does she? Even Ted left to hide away with Narcissa at the safehouse since the Ministry started going after Muggleborns. And even if we say, for the sake of it, she gets to make her own decision, what about the child?! The child -” Remus cut himself off, and his voice sounded choked now. He looked despaired. “My kind doesn’t usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it -”

“You don’t know that!” Draco argued.

“How can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child?” Remus called. “And if, by some miracle, it’s not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed of!”

“Remus!” Hermione breathed, teary-eyed. “Don’t say that - how could any child be ashamed of you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Hermione,” Harry sneered. “I’d be pretty ashamed of him.”

And there it was, the thing Draco had been afraid of. Because parent-child-relationships, that was something sacred to Harry, something he had never had, and Remus was just going to throw that away. Of course, it would hit Harry in the wrong place. 

Draco did not really hear what was being shouted afterwards - there was a lot of goading from Harry, angry retorts from Remus, and desperate attempts to get a word in between from Hermione - and then, Remus shot from the room, and Draco was on his heels.

“Remus!” he bellowed. “Stop right now, or I swear to Merlin I’ll stalk you until you listen!”

Behind him, his Aunt Walburga started to scream bloody murder, but he ignored her as Remus froze halfway to the door, slowly turning to face him.

“What, Draco?” he asked. “What more could you possibly have to say to me? I think you've made your point pretty clear.”

“Actually, I haven’t,” Draco snapped. “Because while I don’t condone you wanting to leave my cousin, I have something to say on the subject of being ashamed of your own father.” Remus paled, but Draco did not let him speak. He took a deep breath and continued, in a very thin voice: “Unlike you, I know  _ exactly _ what it’s like to be ashamed of your father. I know what it takes until a child is pushed that far, and I know that if you stick to your family, they are  _ never  _ going to be ashamed of you.”

“Draco -” he muttered, sounding choked.

“It takes a certain amount of neglect and ego,” Draco interrupted him. “If you stick to your family the way you stuck to me ever since I met you, your child is going to be proud to call you their father, I can promise you that. Because you already have shown more devotion to me in those short years than my own father ever has to me.”

Remus’ eyes were wet now, and he looked at Draco helplessly. “I don’t think I can do this,” he breathed. 

“Of course you can,” Draco said, tears in his own eyes that he desperately tried to keep in check. “Your infliction doesn’t decide whether or not you are a good father. Your actions do. Don’t run away. Your family needs you.”

Remus closed his eyes. He was silent for a long, long moment. Finally, he nodded, and Draco let out a sigh of relief.

“When did you get so wise?” he asked Draco, shaking his head.

“I had a good teacher,” he shrugged, cracking a smile. Remus snorted.

“Will you be okay?” he asked, looking worried now.

“We’ll be fine, Remus,” Draco nodded. “We’ll watch out for each other. You just worry about Dora and your child.”

“All right,” Remus sighed. “Stay safe. And -” he hesitated, biting his lip. “Apologise to Harry for me?” 

“I will,” Draco smiled. 

And with that, Remus apparated, leaving Draco to silence the portrait behind him and return to the kitchen. The mood amongst the other three was maudlin - Hermione and Weasley looked anxious, while Harry seemed a strange mix between agitated and guilty. 

“He left,” he reported. “He’s sticking with Dora. And he says he’s sorry, Harry.”

Harry nodded, not saying anything.

“Thank god,” Hermione whispered, sinking back into her kitchen chair.

“It would have been nice, though,” Weasley muttered. “Having him with us, I mean.”

“Not if it meant him leaving his child!” Harry snapped. A silence followed his words. Harry sighed and drew the  _ Prophet  _ Remus had brought with him towards himself, leafing through the pages and eventually starting to read one of the articles. Hermione caught Draco's gaze, looking immensely worried. Draco just shrugged at her. It wasn’t like Harry had exchanged many words with him in the past couple of days, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to head off the wave of criticism that I'm sure will be coming for this plot-decision: Yes, I considered having Draco realise Regulus' involvement earlier, and consciously decided against it. There are a few reasons for this decision. The most prominent are the following:
> 
> A) Draco has enough on his plate this summer. It's realistic that this would not occur to him because he does not have the headspace to pay any attention to it. He's worrying about his boyfriend, their future, his mother, and on the side, he's spent most of the summer trying to crack highly advanced magical theory so they'd have a chance at destroying Horcruxes should they find them. There's only so many things you can think of at once. 
> 
> B) It just wouldn't have been very convenient, plot-wise, and wouldn't have made much of a difference. So he'd have realised it, what, 2 months in advance, and Harry would have had one reason more to be impatient and leave the Dursleys/Weasleys to search Grimmauld Place? They couldn't have left earlier anyways. There were circumstances. The timeline would have been the same. Changing it would have been pointless. All it would have done is make these past chapters more stressful and invite more conflict early on, which I was loath to do, seeing that the following chapters are full of it. 
> 
> So, yes, I decided against it. I'm sure some of you might not like it, but I don't regret it, and my reasons for it stand. I hope you can understand that. 
> 
> (And yes, I know I technically don't have to explain myself, but ... well, experience shows that I do, so bear with me.)


	7. And Into The Ministry We Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! It's update time again :D
> 
> I'm quite happy with how this chapter turned out, even though it's pretty angsty. We're starting to get into the thick of it now. I hope you're going to enjoy it!!

They didn’t get long in terms of a reprieve after Remus had left before new visitors appeared in their kitchen, this time in the form of Kreacher and Mundungus Fletcher. Though they had obsessively waited for any news from the old house elf for the past week, the suddenness of his return still took Draco by surprise, causing him to drop the cup of tea he had been holding, the porcelain splintering on the stone floor. The sound was almost lost, though, in the racket Kreacher and Fletcher were making. 

Hermione eventually took it upon herself to disarm Fletcher, causing Draco to wake from his trance and conjure robes to bind him. Harry then spent the next ten minutes interrogating Fletcher, and Draco noted that he seemed to relish in the purpose and the thrill of the task. He barked out sharp questions and threats at the thief with a viciousness Draco had rarely seen on Harry’s face and that, quite frankly, scared him a little. 

“When you cleaned out this house of anything valuable,” Harry snapped, eyes narrowed at Fletcher. 

“Sirius never cared about any of the junk -” Fletcher interrupted him, a big mistake on his part, as a moment later, Kreacher was viciously hitting him in the head with the saucepan. Draco took a moment to appreciate the sheer ridicule of the situation. 

“Kreacher, no,” Harry called him off. 

Kreacher froze in the process of carrying out another blow, looking up at Harry imploringly. “Perhaps just one more, Master Harry? For luck?” he asked. 

Weasley laughed. Even Draco cracked a smile. 

“We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading you can do the honours,” Harry promised. Kreacher lowered the saucepan and bowed, allowing Harry to question Fletcher further. “When you stripped this house of all the valuables you could find,” Harry started again, eyes back on the roughened up Fletcher, “you took a bunch of stuff from the kitchen cupboard. There was a locket there. What did you do with it?”

They all stared at Fletcher, the tension in the room palpable. 

“Why?” Fletcher asked. “Is it valuable?” 

“You’ve still got it!” Hermione called.

“No, he hasn’t,” Weasley snapped. “He’s wondering whether he should have asked more money for it.”

“More?” Fletcher snorted. “That wouldn’t have been effing difficult… bleedin’ gave it away, di’n’ I? No choice.”

And that’s how they found out that Dolores Umbridge, of all people, had taken the locket away from him on a raid at Diagon Alley because she had taken a fancy to it. Because obviously, their lives weren’t enough of a nightmare. Now, they had to add Dolores Umbridge to the mix.

“You know what that means, right?” Harry said, once they had sent Mundungus off with a decent memory wipe. “We need to break into the Ministry and take the locket back.”

“Are you insane?” Draco snapped.

“He’s right, Draco,” Hermione shook her head. 

“Didn’t you hear what Remus told us earlier?” Draco shouted. “Harry is wanted by the Ministry! We can’t just march in there, and -”

“Then what do you suggest?” Harry interrupted, raising his eyebrows impatiently. “Why don’t you give us an inside into that brilliant mind of yours.”

“Well, we could go for her house, for one!” Draco pointed out, eyes narrowed. He had noted the sarcasm in Harry’s voice, and it  _ hurt. _

“And where does she live?” Harry countered.

“I don’t know!” Draco shouted. “We could follow her home from the Ministry and find out!”

“She’ll be flooing from inside the Ministry, Malfoy,” Weasley shook his head. “We can’t follow her unless we are inside the building, and even then, it’s risky.”

“Well, there’s gotta be records of her address somewhere!” Draco continued. 

“Inside the Ministry, yes,” Hermione said softly. “But in times of war, everyone keeps their locations as secret as possible, don’t they?”

“Ugh, fine!” Draco yelled, getting to his feet and storming from the room. “Whatever. Don’t listen to me. We all know you never do.”

“Draco -” Hermione began, but Draco had already slammed the door behind himself. 

Hermione found him later, in Regulus’ old room. He figured it would be the place they’d look last, and indeed, it had taken quite a long time for any of them to come after him. Draco tried not to feel too bitter about it, but he knew that he was. 

“Hey,” Hermione whispered, sitting down on the mattress next to him, back against the wall. “Are you okay?” When Draco didn’t answer, she sighed. “Draco, you know we care about what you think, right?” When Draco just snorted, her voice became more urgent. “We do!” she insisted. “It’s just that this time, there really is no better solution.”

“No better solution than running headfirst into danger?” Draco challenged.

“Well, yes,” she shrugged. 

“Because that served us so well in the past,” Draco deadpanned. “Look at fifth year. Look at -”

“I know,” she said, and her voice was soothing. “But we can’t win this war by hiding away, Draco. It’s not how this works.”

“We can’t win this war if Harry is dead, either!” Draco argued, his voice cracking.

“Then let’s make sure he won’t be,” Hermione suggested. “Together.”

Draco was silent for a long moment. Then, he whispered: “I’m not sure that’s what he wants anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione frowned.

“To work with me,” Draco shrugged. “Or be around me in general, that is.”

“You know that’s not true, Draco,” she shook her head.

“Then where is he, Hermione?” Draco hissed. 

Hermione gulped. He could see that she was choosing her words carefully. Eventually, she came out with: “He thought you needed time to cool off.”

“Oh?” Draco laughed, short and humourless. “Since when? Since when does he care about letting me cool off? Since when do we even  _ work _ that way? We always went after each other when the other was upset, and we always offered comfort! So why isn’t he here?” Hermione seemed to have no answer to that, and it made Draco feel sick to the bones. It seemed to confirm all his suspicions. “He isn’t even looking at me anymore, Hermione,” Draco breathed. 

“Draco,” she whispered.

“He won’t let me touch him, even when I know he’s upset.  _ Especially _ then. He doesn’t need me anymore, does he? He wants me gone.”

“That’s stupid, Draco. Don’t say that,” Hermione said, and she looked truly horrified at his words. 

“What else am I supposed to think?!” Draco demanded, and there were tears in his eyes now.  _ Damn,  _ he hadn’t wanted to cry. 

Hermione bit her lip, and then, she drew him into a tight hug. He struggled for a moment, and then, he sank into it, letting her stroke his hair back and soothe him.

“Harry loves you,” she promised. “More than anything. He’s just frustrated and scared. There’s a lot of pressure on him, and he doesn’t know how to handle it very well. Give him some time. It’ll settle, and then he’ll reach out to you again. I’m sure of it.”

“He always leaned on me when things were the hardest,” Draco muttered. “Why isn’t he doing it anymore?”

It took a while for Hermione to answer, but when she did, her voice was steady and rational. “Draco, sometimes we push the people we love the most away the farthest. There could be a lot of reasons for his behaviour. Maybe he feels in any way lacking, and looking at you makes that feeling more pronounced. Or he’s scared of losing another person he cares about. Maybe he’s scared of disappointing you. Whatever it is, it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t need you anymore. I think he just needs some time to deal with whatever is happening in his mind right now, and then he’ll need you all the more.”

“How can you be so sure?” Draco asked. “His feelings might have just cooled off.”

“That doesn’t just happen overnight, Draco,” she shook her head. “Not with a love as fierce as yours. I know it’s difficult for you, but please, have faith in Harry’s love for you.”

Draco wanted to. He really did. But every time Harry turned away from him at night or averted his eyes throughout the day, the voices in his head got louder and louder, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could silence them. So instead of answering, he just clung to Hermione a little tighter for comfort. 

Harry was waiting for him, sitting on their bed that night, already in his pyjamas but above the covers. They looked at each other for a long moment as Draco entered the room before Draco broke the contact to get changed himself. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, at last, his voice quiet. 

Draco just shrugged. He quickly changed and slipped under the covers on his side of the bed. A long silence followed, and Draco thought Harry was going to let it go when he cut the lights. Then, much to his surprise, he felt the mattress shift, and Harry pressed up against his back, slinging one arm around his waist. 

Draco held his breath. They hadn’t been this close since they had arrived at Grimmauld Place. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “I know you were worried about me, and I lashed out at you. It wasn’t fair.” When Draco still didn’t speak, he leaned his head against his shoulder: “You know I’ll never not care about what you have to say, right? Even if we can’t act on your ideas this time… your thoughts are  _ always _ appreciated, Draco.”

There was so much Draco wanted to say. Above all, he wanted to ask what it was that was going wrong between them, but with Harry’s arm wrapped firmly around him, he lost his nerve. If Harry told him that he wanted to end things, he’d never be able to put himself back together. 

“Let’s go to sleep,” Draco breathed, his hand finding Harry’s and entwining their fingers. It seemed to soothe Harry enough to make him relax against him. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Goodnight.”

Draco did not fall asleep for a long time, too distracted by the even rise and fall of Harry’s chest against his back. 

They spent the next weeks preparing their mission. Draco’s cooperation was given rather reluctantly, to say the very least - he did work with Hermione when it came to planning the whole operation, keen on making sure that if they were going to go on a near-suicidal trip into the heart of the enemy base, he might as well make sure it was thought through till the end. They took turns spying out the entrance to the Ministry and its employees, gathering information and working it into a game plan, mostly when Harry and Weasley were out of the room so Hermione and Draco had some peace and quiet to run through all eventualities and construct secret identities.

Still, if anything became clear throughout this strategic phase, it was how impossible a task they had set themselves, at least in Draco’s eyes. For every idea they had, three problems popped up, and he was unwilling to set foot into the Ministry until he had a solution to all of them.

Harry, of course, didn’t have that kind of patience. So he announced on September 1st - and Draco was aware that it was in all probability  _ not _ coincidental that this was also the day the Hogwarts Express left for the first time without them in the last seven years - that they should just go ahead and do it the following day.

Draco threw up his hands and got to his feet, exasperated. Kreacher, in his newfound kindness, offered him some tea for his nerves. 

“Tomorrow?” Hermione asked, gaping at Harry. “You aren’t serious, Harry?”

“I am,” Harry argued. “I don’t think we’re going to be much better prepared than we are now even if we skulk around the Ministry entrance for another month.”

“Of course, you would say that,” Draco snapped.

“Well, it’s true!” Harry said, immediately defensive. “And the longer we put it off, the further away the locket could be. There’s already a good chance -”

“They are out for your head, Harry!” Draco yelled. “We don’t have room for mistakes! We have to be perfectly prepared!”

“We are!” Harry called.

“We’re not!” Draco shook his head. “Not by my standards!”

“That’s because you don’t want to go!” Harry pointed out. “You didn’t want to do this in the first place, and now you’re stalling!”

“Well, I apologise for being rational and looking out for you!” Draco shot back.

“Please, don’t fight again,” Hermione said tiredly, looking back and forth between them pleadingly. “Harry, you know Draco is just scared for you. And I agree with him, it’s smart to be as prepared as we can be.”

“Well, I say we are,” Harry replied stubbornly. “We know everything important. We know how to get into the Ministry, and we roughly know where Umbridge’s office is -”

“ _ Roughly _ ,” Draco mocked. “Yes, because that’s going to suffice!”

“What do you need, a floor plan?!” Harry called.

“I want a plan with fewer variables that are bound to go wrong!” Draco glared.

“Well, newsflash: That’s always going to be true, with every plan!” Harry informed him. “You can’t  _ plan _ life, Draco, because other people will never act according to your calculations. It’s always up to chance!”

Draco glowered and crossed his arms. “And if I say I’m not going along with it?” he challenged. “Are you still going to do it?” 

“In a heartbeat,” Harry returned immediately, his face grim. He only blinked when Draco gulped, his jaw hardening as he felt the words like a slap. “Wait,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean -”

“No,” Draco shook his head, “you meant exactly what you said.” And with that, he turned on his heels, ready to storm out of the room. 

“Draco, no!” Hermione called, and before he could escape the room, the kitchen door swung shut in his face. “Honestly, you two can’t keep miscommunicating like this!”

“Don’t put this on me, Hermione!” Draco hissed, not looking at her. 

“I’m not,” she sighed, the frustration apparent in her voice. “Damn, Harry, get your head out of your arse and talk to him! Can’t you  _ see _ his head is running wild?!”

There was a beat of silence, before Weasley asked, very quietly: “Can  _ I _ leave?”

“No!” Hermione hissed. “We’ll all stay here until this is resolved and we decided what to do!”

“Well, you heard Harry,” Draco noted, his voice bitter. “You apparently don’t need my input or participation for that. So maybe, if you could just open that bloody door and -”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry sighed. “Why do you always assume that I don’t need you, or that I don’t care about your opinion? That’s absurd, Draco.”

“Well, you don’t give me much else to go on by,” Draco pointed out, an edge to his voice. 

He heard Harry get to his feet and approach him. When a gentle hand touched his shoulder, he shrugged it off, backing away from him.

“Don’t touch me!” Draco hissed, his face murderous. “Not now.” If Harry touched him now, he’d melt again, and they couldn’t keep glazing this over. 

Harry looked at him uncertainly, as if unsure what to do now that the physical contact had been denied to him.  _ Good, _ Draco thought, vindictively,  _ have a taste of your own medicine, why don’t you?  _ Finally, he cleared his throat, seemingly pulling himself together. 

“If I went without you, you’d be safe,” Harry said, very softly. “That’s why I said that. I know I shouldn’t have, but -”

“So, that’s it?” Draco demanded. “You keep punishing me for being  _ here?!” _

“I’m not  _ punishing  _ you!” Harry called, looking alarmed now.

“Yeah,” Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Right. Because everything is perfectly normal between us.”

Harry gulped. There was a tense silence that dragged on and on, and then, Harry spoke again.

“I’ve not been dealing with this very well,” Harry shrugged, making an indistinct gesture. “I don’t know how to talk about it, but… it’s been tough. My head has been a weird place to be in, lately. But you and me,” he held in, catching his eyes. “Nothing has changed, Draco. Please believe me.”

“How can I?” Draco asked. “You used to lean on me. You used to trust me. Now you don’t.”

“No,” Harry shook his head, eyes wide. “I - is that what you think?! Of course I trust you!”

“Well, obviously, you don’t!” Draco called, wrapping his arms around himself and willing himself not to break down. “Or else -”

“Draco, everyone I care about dies!” Harry interrupted him, green eyes blazing. “And I’m terrified you’ll be next!” That finally shut Draco up. He stared at Harry, heart racing as the other breathed heavily, gulping against the emotion that seemed to be flooding out of him. “Sometimes I look at you,” Harry muttered, his fingers trembling visibly. “And I just… I don’t know what I’d do if you’d…” He bit his lip and took a tentative step towards him, reaching out to touch his cheek. Draco let him. “I didn’t mean to push you away,” Harry breathed.

Draco closed his eyes, his throat burning at the warmth of Harry’s fingers on his skin, but he didn’t allow himself to cry. Not in front of Hermione and Weasley. He’d made enough of a scene already. No need to humiliate himself further by showing how needy he really was for Harry’s affection. 

“Alright,” Hermione said, at least, sounding relieved. “Now that that’s cleared up… Can we please talk about this issue like adults?”

Draco opened his eyes again, regretful when Harry’s hand fell from his face. 

“I still think we should do it tomorrow,” Harry insisted.

“Harry,” Draco groaned.

“No, please, listen to me,” Harry pleaded, catching his eyes. “I can’t sit around here doing nothing anymore. It’s driving me insane. We need to get to that locket, Draco.”

“I understand that you’re anxious,” Draco assured him. “But I still think it’s too much of a risk.”

“It’s  _ always _ going to be risky.” Harry argued. “But we can’t wait forever. This is only the first Horcrux. We have two more plus the snake to find,  _ and  _ we need  a way to destroy them. We need to finally  _ act. _ ”

“I agree,” Weasley said. “Enough planning. Time for action.”

“God, you’re such  _ Gryffindors!” _ Draco snapped. “Hermione, please, say something!”

Hermione frowned deeply, her eyes flying over their notes. “I agree with Draco,” she muttered. “I’d like more time for planning. But then again,” she sighed, “I  _ always _ want more time for planning. I never feel like it’s enough. So Harry might be right, there.”

“You’re not seriously backstabbing me here?!” Draco asked, incredulous.

“No, I’m just,” Hermione shrugged, looking conflicted. “I don’t know.”

Harry took Draco’s hand, making him look at him. “You asked if I trusted you,” Harry said softly. “And I do. Now I ask you to trust me in return.”

“That’s not fair,” Draco shook his head. “You don’t get to demand that to get your way, when my own opinion gets thrown to the side in the process. I could ask you the same thing in reverse!”

“Yes, but the difference is that you are arguing because you are afraid and want to control everything. I am arguing because I want you to take a leap of faith with me, follow my instincts. So please,  _ trust me.” _

“And you wonder why I think you don’t value my opinion,” Draco grumbled.

“Draco,” Harry sighed, stepping closer to pull Draco against him. Harry’s face ended up pressed against his throat. “Please,” he muttered, voice muffled now. “I can’t keep arguing over the same points. Just. Trust me, okay?”

Draco shook his head, feeling the fight drain out of him. “It’s not like I have much of a choice,” he muttered. “I can’t argue with you. You won’t yield. So all I can do is go along and protect you.”

Harry sagged against him, letting out a breath of relief. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

Draco didn’t feel like he deserved gratitude, for his agreement left a bitter taste in his mouth that even Kreacher’s dinner couldn’t wash away.

They left for the Ministry the next morning, disapparating in pairs underneath the Invisibility Cloak. They hid in an empty theatre in an alleyway next to the Ministry’s entrance till they were complete in numbers and ready to set out on step one of their plan. Then, they waited for certain Ministry employees they had scouted in the past weeks to appear to work so they could incapacitate them, take their hair and their identity.

Their first victim was Mafalda Hopkirk, assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office. She was stunned and her unconscious body discarded in a dark passageway, stripped of ID and tokens and everything Hermione would need for their mission. 

Next, Hermione, now in the body of Mafalda Hopkirk, slipped Reginald Cattermole, Magical Maintenance, a Puking Pastille and convinced the surprisingly unwilling man to visit St. Mungo’s. Weasley took his form, and then they took off separately, coming back with two more sets of hairs. 

“I had to knock mine out,” Weasley shrugged. “No idea who he is, but I put him with Mafalda. Maybe they’ll think they knocked each other out by accident.”

“Mine went home with a nosebleed,” Hermione told them. “Nosebleed Nougat. Hopefully, he’ll be out of action for the rest of the day. I have no clue to his identity, either, though.”

“It’s alright,” Harry shrugged, taking the hairs from Hermione and dropping them into his flask. Draco had no choice but to accept the ones from Weasley’s hand and copy him. “Cheers.”

Draco hated the feeling of transforming with Polyjuice Potion, but this was not the moment to be fussy. He clenched his jaw so he wouldn’t throw up, screwed his eyes shut and waited till it was over, and when the horrific sensation of something crawling beneath his skin had subsided, he opened them again, looking down at himself. He looked to be middle-aged, the skin of his hands lined and roughened, the dark hair on the back of his fingers greying. When he moved experimentally, he could feel a painful twinge in his left knee, and he grimaced. 

“Leave it to you to choose me a damaged body, Weasley,” he muttered, but Weasley just glared at him, unimpressed. 

“We need to go,” Hermione whispered, checking her watch anxiously. “It’s best not to linger, or we’ll look suspicious.”

Draco nodded, throwing a glance at Harry, who’d now transformed into a grim-looking figure, the face strangely familiar to Draco. He blinked. “Harry,” he hissed. “I think you’re a Death Eater.”

They all froze, staring at him, but after a moment, Harry just shrugged. 

“Well, if I am, it’s a good cover,” was all he said. “They won’t suspect me.”

Draco nodded slowly, and then they made their way into the Ministry. New regulations were such that regular employees were not allowed to floo into work anymore, as had been procedure up until the Ministry’s fall. Now, they had to flush themselves in through a public toilet by means of specifically charmed tokens which linked them directly to the floo network. It was an extremely unpleasant business, but it couldn’t be helped, so Draco ground his teeth and literally flushed himself down the toilet.

The Ministry they arrived in was, frankly speaking, the stuff of nightmares. The statue in the Atrium had been remodelled into some kind of anti-Muggle monument, and Muggleborns were yanked around by authorities, screaming for mercy. For a moment, they stood, staring transfixed at the sight, the horror of what was happening in their country slowly sinking in. But then, Draco realised that they were slowly attracting attention, and he urged the others to move. 

Their plan had been easy: Get to Umbridge’s office, stick together, find the locket. It did not turn out that way, though, because they had barely gotten into the elevator when Weasley got called away by Yaxley to fix the atmospheric enchantments in his office, a request he couldn’t deny since he’d made it very clear that he was on his way to decide the fate of Cattermole’s wife, who was apparently on trial for being a Muggleborn. Which explained, Draco realised, why the original Reginald Cattermole had been so reluctant to head to St. Mungo’s. For a moment, he felt horrible, but he had no time to ponder the matter because, at the next moment, they came face to face with none other than Dolores Umbridge herself. She was on the way down to the trials and, as luck would have it, she took along Hermione alias Mafalda Hopkirk for record-keeping. 

Draco, of course, was determined to stay at Harry’s side, but when they ran into the new Minister of Magic, Pius Thicknesse, those plans were crossed brutally.

“Robards!” he called, eyes on Draco. “Just the man I was looking for! Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin is waiting in your office. As discussed, I want you to confine her to desk-duty for now.”

“Oh?” Draco said, trying to keep his face neutral. 

“Yes,” Thicknesse nodded. “I don’t approve of pregnant women on the field. She might not be far along, but it’s not safe.”

There was something else in his voice, though, something that suggested there was another reason Draco’s cousin was taken off her job, but Draco knew better than to ask. Still, he hesitated, exchanging a short glance with Harry. The last thing he wanted was to leave him alone in the Ministry. 

But Harry just nodded, ever so slightly, so Draco had no choice but to leave Harry and Thicknesse alone and make his way into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Now that he knew the last name of the person he was masquerading as, it was easier to slip into his role. He’d heard of Gawain Robards before. He was Head of the Auror Office and therefore Dora’s boss. He didn’t know anything about Robards’ alliances, but he kept his head held high and caught nobody’s eye until he’d found his office at the end of the corridor and slipped inside without a word, finding Dora angrily pacing inside.

“So, what's it this time?” she demanded, her tone angry but defiant. “Is it a  _ guys only  _ mission? Am I too inexperienced? Please, I’d love to hear the Ministry’s new reasoning for keeping me tied to my desk like a bloody intern.”

Draco carefully closed the door behind himself, weighing his options. Then, he said, very quietly: “Dora, I’m not Robards.”

Dora frowned, the use of her nickname obviously alarming her. “Excuse me?” she asked, looking wary.

“It’s me, Draco,” he whispered. “We infiltrated the Ministry to find something. But I got sent to you instead.”

Dora stared at him, long and hard. Then, she asked, tone unyielding: “What colour was my hair the day we first met?”

“A bright pink,” Draco said, his lips twitching. “You called me ‘roomie’.”

“Honestly, I have no idea what colour my hair was,” she snorted. “But I did call you ‘roomie’,  so it must be you. Bloody hell, Draco, are you insane, kiddo?!”

“Tell me about it!” Draco huffed. “I tried to stop the others, but they insisted. And now we’re here.”

“No self-preservation, the lot of them,” she shook her head, but she crossed the distance between them and pulled him into a tight hug. “Well, I’m still glad to see you, even if you look like an old tosser.”

“Thank you?” Draco said, tightening his arms around her. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she shrugged, stepping back to smile at him sheepishly. “Throwing up twice a day and throwing tantrums at my boss at work, but other than that -”

“Thicknesse wants you out of the field,” Draco told her quickly. “He told me to confine you to office work permanently. ‘I don’t approve of pregnant women on the field,’ he said.’”

“Excuse me?” she called, furious now. “That’s a load of bullshit!”

“Of course it is!” Draco agrees. “They probably want you out of the way. You’re a member of the Order. Whatever Thicknesse has planned, it can’t be good, and he wants you unaware of it.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” she hissed. “Time to have a chat with dear Kingsley. Thanks for the tip-off, Draco.”

“No problem,” he sighed. “Listen, I really need to run and catch up to Harry.”

“What are you up to?” she asked, looking concerned now. “Do you need help?”

“I need you to stay as far away as possible,” Draco instructed. “If this blows up, you need to not be associated. Do you understand me?”

“Fine,” she agreed, though grudgingly. “Just… be careful, okay? The Ministry isn’t the place for you kids right now.”

“Believe me,” he sighed. “I’m very aware of that.”

Draco used his bracelet to get in contact with Harry, only find that the other boy was already in Umbridge's office. When Draco made his way up there, the whole floor was in chaos. Harry had obviously set off the Decoy Detonator in the foreroom to gain unnoticed access, and everyone was in an uproar. It allowed Draco to slip through the room without any suspicion, though - it might have also been a perk of being the Head of Auror Office - and following Harry into Umbridge's office. 

Harry jumped when the door opened, pointing his wand at Draco, but when Draco hissed: “It’s me!”, he quickly lowered it again, breathing out in relief. 

“You scared me,” he muttered. “How did you get away?”

“I told Dora the truth,” he shrugged. “I was lucky that I was only sent to her. How about you? Did you find anything?”

“Nothing much,” Harry groaned, sounding frustrated. “Apart from the fact that we’re all being watched. The Weasleys, Tonks and her mother,  _ everyone.  _ She has a file for each of us in there.”

“I’m not surprised,” Draco shrugged. “Let’s keep looking.”

They both frisked the office, turning out every book, drawer or box they got their hands on and coming up with nothing. The only thing Draco found was the new biography of Dumbledore Skeeter had published, and on instinct, he pocketed it.

They managed to hide under the Invisibility Cloak when they heard footsteps, just in time before the door opened and Thicknesse entered the room. He did not linger, though - he only penned down a note for Umbridge and left again, none the wiser that Harry and Draco had ever been there. Still, they took it as their cue to leave. 

“She might have the locket  _ on _ her,” Draco hissed. “In which case, it’s currently down in that trial with Hermione.”

“Let’s find Ron and get to them,” Harry nodded. “And if we can’t locate the locket on sight, we leave. You were right - this was a reckless, stupid idea. I should have listened to you.”

“You always say that once we’re in trouble,” Draco muttered. “Still, you have to run your head through the wall first.”

By some miracle, they met Weasley on the lift. He was soaked and frantic and took a moment to recognise them, but was all the more relieved when he did. Together, they were about to make their way down to the courtroom when they ran into Mr Weasley. Then, things started to spiral out of control again, because  _ of course _ it couldn’t go that smoothly. It never did. 

First, Mr Weasley unwittingly gave his son advice on how to stop the incessant rain in Yaxley’s office, making him take off again before Draco could even open his mouth. Because bloody  _ hell, _ who even  _ cared _ about the stupid  _ office _ right now?! They needed to get down to the trial and they needed to stick together!

Then, when Draco and Harry moved to follow him, because what else could they do, Harry was yanked back into the lift by Mr Weasley and before Draco could even react, the doors had slid closed again.  _ Fabulous. _

Draco then decided against going after Weasley, because between Weasley and Harry, he’d  _ always _ choose Harry. So he angrily waited for the next lift, eager to get down to the courtroom, hoping he would catch Harry down there.

As soon as the lift doors opened, Draco felt an unnatural cold settle into his bones, making him shiver.  _ Dementors,  _ he thought, gulping before he pushed on, making his way down the hallway, past the entrance to the Department of Mysteries and towards the old courtrooms. Down the hallway in front of them, he could finally see the dementors crowding around a number of Muggleborns waiting for their trial, huddled on benches, pale and shivering. Some were accompanied by their families, others were alone. It was one of the most horrifying scenes Draco had ever seen, and he was unlikely to ever forget it. 

Draco didn’t know what to do. Harry was nowhere in sight, and the hopelessness the dementors exuded spread through him like a wildfire.

He shook himself, and with a rush of determination, he pulled himself together. He shook his wand into his hand, and it slipped from his wrist holster, allowing him to cast a Patronus, thoughts firmly on the way he’d felt when Harry had kissed him for the very first time, at Hogsmeade all these months ago. 

His arctic fox sprang from his wand, pouncing at the dementors, chasing them away from Draco. Some of the Muggleborns looked up, staring at him in despair. And Draco knew he shouldn’t, but he was only human, and, by Merlin, these were  _ innocent people!  _ So he ordered his fox keep them away from the other people, too, unconcerned about the stunned expressions on most of their faces.

Then, the door to the courtroom burst open, revealing Harry and Hermione in their Polyjuiced forms, their Patronuses and a woman who he had never seen before but who had tears running down her face. 

Harry met his eyes, nodding to Hermione, who held up her hand, clutching the locket in it. Draco gulped. 

“Looks like I missed all the fun again,” he commented.

“We need to get out of here,” Hermione hissed. 

Harry nodded grimly, before raising his voice to address the whole hallway. “It’s been decided that you should all go home and go into hiding with your families,” he announced. “Go abroad if you can. Just get well away from the Ministry. That’s the - er - new official position.” Draco raised his eyebrows, and Harry threw him a pointed look. “Now, if you’ll just follow the Patronuses, you’ll be able to leave from the Atrium!”

And so they marched on, the Muggleborns huddling together, whispering to himself. Draco fell into step with Harry, murmuring: “We can’t just go up there with all these Muggleborns, Harry. They’ll kill us on sight.”

Harry made a face, indicating that he hadn’t thought that far, but before he could answer, the lift doors opened, revealing Weasley in his Polyjuiced form. 

“Reg!” the woman who had accompanied Harry and Hermione out of the courtroom cried, flinging herself at him, obviously his unwitting wife. “Runcorn let me out, he attacked Umbridge and Yaxley, and he’s told us all to leave the country, and I think we’d better do it, Reg, I really do. Let’s hurry home and fetch the children and - why are you so wet?”

“Water,” Weasley muttered, helplessly searching out Harry’s gaze. “Harry, they know there are intruders inside the Ministry. Something about the real Robards turning up, I reckon we’ve got about five minutes, if that -”

Hermione gasped, turning to them in alarm. “Harry, if we’re trapped here - !”

“We won’t be if we move fast!” Harry interrupted her. He turned to the Muggleborns and their families. “Who’s got wands? Okay, all of you who haven’t got wands need to attach yourself to somebody who has. We’ll need to be fast - before they stop us. Come on.”

They then proceeded to squeeze themselves into two lifts and make their way up towards the Atrium, but when the door opened, they were already expected. The real Robards was indeed back, wand trained at Draco as he stepped out of the lift, wearing his body, and Harry pulled Draco behind himself, shielding him from Robards. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Robards?” Harry called, with all the fake authority in his voice. “I’ve already caught the intruder, and I’m on my way to have him seen to. Direct orders from Pius.”

“Funny,” Robards snapped. “I got direct orders to seal the exits and let no one out of here until we found the culprit. And since when is this your area of expertise, Runcorn?”

“We all know snuffing out liars is what I do best, Robards,” Harry snapped. “Now, excuse me, I have a job to do.”

“You are going nowhere!” Robards called. “Also,” he frowned, as if only now realising the number of people in the Atrium. “What are  _ they _ doing up here?”

“Cleared of all charges,” Harry shrugged. “We need to release them.”

“But the orders are -”

“Who outranks who here, Robards?”

“I’m the Head of Auror Office! Your position didn’t even exist last month!” Robards called. 

“Well, bad luck,” Harry snorted, and  _ damn,  _ Draco needed to congratulate him for his acting. “Now, if you’d please stop getting in the way of me doing my job. I’m sure you have some papers to file.”

Robards spluttered but Harry walked straight past him, his grip on Draco’s arm tight, giving the appearance that he was manhandling a culprit. Hermione was on their heels, as well as Weasley and Mrs Cattermole and the rest of the Muggleborns.

It would have all gone well, if, at that moment, the lift doors hadn’t opened to reveal a beat-up Yaxley, screaming bloody murder. And just like that, hell broke loose.

They somehow made it to a fireplace, but Yaxley was on their heels, holding onto Hermione. They made it to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place for a split second, and then, Draco felt himself pulled away by an Apparition, one as turbulent as he’d never experienced it. He felt like he was going to throw up and then, he knew nothing anymore.


	8. The Locket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers!
> 
> We've reached the most difficult chapter I have written yet for this story. Please be aware that this chapter contains a (magically induced) suicide attempt, the mental spiralling that leads up to it as well as some questionable aftercare and explicit scenes. If you find any of that triggering, please proceed carefully. 
> 
> In case you want to skip either the suicide attempt scene or the sex scene, I took precautions. The beginning of the suicide attempt scene is marked with ###B###, the ending with ###E###. Just scroll until you find the marking, and it should be safe to read on (I hope). Same applies to the sex scene, only the marking is ***B*** for the beginning and ***E*** for the end (though this time, it's almost coincidental with the end of the chapter - I will keep the marking for future sex scenes, though). In the end notes, I put in relevant information for both scenes that you can scroll down to read so you don't miss out.
> 
> Last but not least, if you find this chapter triggering in any way, please don't hesitate to seek help from friends, family or call the suicide help hotline of your country. Here is a link with an international overview:  
> http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

“Draco!”

Draco startled at the sound of Harry’s voice, tone urgent, and then he was shaken roughly, making his stomach turn. His eyes fluttered open and he moaned, shielding his eyes against the bright light blinding him. 

“Thank god,” Harry breathed, ceasing the bloody manhandling. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I don’t think so,” Draco muttered, slowly lifting his hand from his eyes to blink up at Harry’s pale face.

“Good,” Harry nodded. “Because Ron got splinched.”

That had Draco alert within seconds, and he sat up quickly, ignoring the way his head spun at the movement. He realised they were in some kind of forest and a couple of feet from them, Hermione was cradling Weasley’s too still body, his shirt blood-stained and torn at the sleeve, where Draco could see a wound freshly healed. His skin had an unhealthy, greyish tint to it, and Hermione was trembling as she held him tenderly. 

“What happened?” Draco asked, his voice soft. “Where are we?”

“The woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup,” she answer shakily. “It was the first place I could think of?”

“Oh,” Draco muttered, nodding. 

“We can’t go back to Grimmauld Place,” she whispered. “Yaxley grabbed me and followed me through the Floo connection and I was only able to shake him off at the doorstep -”

“It’s okay,” Draco cut her off, understanding exactly what that meant. They had let Yaxley into the house, meaning it wasn’t safe any longer. “It’s not your fault.”

Hermione sniffled, close to tears, and Draco reached out to squeeze her shoulder. Then he got up and started casting protection spells around them. He and Hermione had researched them together and had practised them so much that they could probably now do them in their sleep. 

“Harry,” he said quietly, between spells, “could you get the tent?”

“The tent?” Harry asked, looking flabbergasted.

“In Hermione’s bag,” Draco clarified, gesturing to the small beaded bag lying not far from him on the ground. 

“In the… of course,” Harry muttered, shaking himself and picking it up. He summoned the tent as Draco continued casting. “I thought this belonged to that bloke Perkins at the Ministry?” he asked. 

“Apparently he didn’t want it back, his lumbago’s so bad,” Hermione murmured, eyes still on Weasley, “so Ron’s dad said I could borrow it.”

“Right,” Harry muttered, frowning at the tent. “How do I…?”

“Put it down and step back,” Draco instructed, turning when Harry scrambled to his feet, dropping the tent to the floor. He pointed his wand at it and called: “ _ Erecto!” _

The tent started to construct itself, and Draco turned away again, finishing their protection spells. 

“When did you become such a handyman?” Harry asked, sounding stunned.

“When I knew I needed to prepare myself for an infinite time on the run with you,” Draco snorted.  _ “Cave inimicum,”  _ he called, pointing his wand over his head. “Did I forget anything, Hermione?”

“I don’t think so?” Hermione shrugged. “Though, honestly, I wasn’t listening half the time.”

“It’s okay,” Draco sighed. “I think I’ve got everything.”

It was then that Weasley groaned and all their gazes flew to his face. His eyes opened slowly, and Hermione’s hand went to stroke some sweaty hair from his face. 

“How d’you feel?” she whispered.

“Lousy,” Weasley groaned, his healthy arm going to his injured one, grimacing. “Where are we?”

Draco turned away from them, deciding to let Hermione have that moment. Instead, he took Harry’s hand and pulled him into the tent. He came, though a little unwillingly. 

“Did we get the locket?” he asked him in a hushed voice.

“Oh,” Harry said, nodding. He pulled it out from his pocket, handing it to Draco. “Yes. Hermione dropped it when she was tending to Ron, and I picked it up.”

Draco frowned, examining the object in his hand. It was large and golden and the letter ‘S’, pointing to the Slytherin family, was inlaid with emeralds. He hesitated, then he tried to pry it open. It wouldn’t budge, just as expected. He closed his fist around it, feeling the dark magic emanate from it, making him feel slightly nauseous. There was also something else…

“I feel a pulse,” Draco whispered. “It’s as if it’s alive.”

Harry blinked, holding out his hand, and Draco gave him the locket to feel it for himself. When he did, Harry’s eyes widened. 

“We probably need to open it to be able to destroy it,” Draco frowned. “But even if we manage that, destroying it won’t be easy… I’ve been working on a theory, but I was only able to unearth bits and pieces of it…” Draco bit his lip. 

“Well,” Harry shrugged, all business now. “We’ll have to keep it safe until we work out how to destroy it.” With that, he got to his feet, pulling the chain around his neck.

“Wait!” Draco called, alarmed. “You can’t  _ wear _ it! Don’t you remember what happened with the diary?!”

“Draco, you _used_ the diary,” Harry said softly. “You wrote in it and made yourself vulnerable. I’ll just wear it to keep it safe.”

“But isn’t that using it, too?” Draco argued. “I don’t like this. Can’t we just keep it in Hermione’s bag?”

“We could lose Hermione’s bag,” Harry shook his head. “We can’t risk to lose the Horcrux.” Draco frowned, but didn’t know how to reproach that argument. “Come on,” Harry said. “Let’s get Ron in here and into bed. He needs to rest.”

And with that, he pushed past Draco and left the tent, effectively ending their discussion.

They were unable to change location as long as Weasley was recovering, so they stayed in their little hide-out, taking turns between the three of them in keeping a watchful eye out to make sure no one approached their tent, even though, technically, they should be well-enough protected through their enchantments.

Still, despite their seemingly uneventful couple of days, things between them became quite turbulent. Weasley was being a right git, moody both due to his injury and the general lack of food. Hermione had educated herself on edible plants, berries and mushrooms throughout the summer and was trying her best to serve them something each day, and Draco did his best to help, looking up spells and trying to remember what little he’d been taught by his aunt in the kitchen, but it was no use with the lack of ingredients, and Weasley made his displeasure about that known. Hermione, naturally, took his criticism to heart the most, both because it was Weasley and because out of the four of them, he needed the food the most to recover. Honestly, if Weasley hadn’t been injured, he’d have ripped him a new one.

The other diva in their makeshift camp turned out to be Harry. His mood had taken a sudden downturn after they had arrived in the forest, if due to being stationary and without a roof over their head or due to the fact that they had no clue on how to destroy the Horcrux, Draco did not know, but it was very noticeable. The fact that, finally, Draco and Hermione had their little talk with him about Godric’s Hollow might have had something to do with it, too. They had put it off and off - the opportunity hadn’t presented itself at the Burrow, under Mrs Weasley’s watchful eyes, and at Grimmauld Place, Harry had been distracted by a different task, but now, he had made his desire to go known once more and they couldn’t keep quiet any longer. It had gone over as splendidly as they had imagined, even with Draco’s participation. Harry was now often found sulking alone in corners, and when approached about a topic, his answers would be short and flippant. He didn’t let Draco reach out to him, either. It seemed like they were back to their prior stage at Grimmauld Place, with Harry avoiding him at all costs and Draco felt so tired, and so confused. 

After a couple of days, Harry woke them up in the middle of the night with a new vision of the Dark Lord’s search for Gregorovitch. It turned out that he had been successful in finding the old wandmaker, only to learn that whatever he’d been looking for with Gregorovitch had been stolen from him. 

“He read Gregorovitch’s mind, and I saw this young bloke perched on a window sill,” he told Draco and Weasley - Hermione had stormed out angrily, still disapproving vocally of the fact that Harry was not attempting to close his mind from the Dark Lord’s thoughts and emotions, “and he fired a curse at Gregorovitch and jumped out of sight. He stole it, he stole whatever You-Know-Who’s -” Harry had bent to Weasley’s demands to stop using the name, for now. Weasley insisted that it was bad luck, “after. And I… I think I’ve seen him somewhere before…”

Draco frowned, scanning Harry’s face. “Where do you think you’ve seen him?” Draco asked. “He’s most probably from the continent.”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, biting his lip. 

“Couldn’t you see what the thief was holding?” Weasley asked.

“No…” Harry shook his head. “It must have been something small.”

“Harry?” Weasley said, looking unsure. “You don’t reckon You-Know-Who’s after something else to turn into a Horcrux?”

“I thought seven was his magic number,” Draco frowned. “Why would he make another one?”

“The diary is gone,” Weasley shrugged.

“Hm,” Draco hummed, considering the possibility. 

“But wouldn’t it be dangerous for him to make another one?” Harry asked. “Didn’t Hermione say he had pushed his soul to the limit already?”

“He has,” Draco agreed. “He might not be aware of that, though.”

“Yeah… maybe,” Harry breathed. 

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, the implications of the new information whirling through their minds. He heard both Weasley and Harry drift back into sleep eventually but Draco lay awake for a long time, listening to them breathing.

He wished he and Harry were still sharing beds. Maybe it would be easier for him to sleep. 

As soon as Weasley felt well enough to walk, they decided to change their location every couple of days. The walks were long and tiring, but at least gave them something else to do than sit around and snap at each other. 

They had also found a couple of opportunities to snatch food from somewhere - some eggs from a farm here, a bread from a warehouse there - but it was rare and never enough, and Draco could feel the lack of food tearing on all of their moods.

So he suggested a trip for himself and Harry to a nearby Muggle town. It was a small market town and it happened to be a Saturday, and Draco was sure they’d be able to slip under the masses and buy some food to last them through the week. 

“It’s dangerous,” Hermione sighed as she handed Draco enough of her Muggle savings to last them. “Are you sure…?”

“Quite sure,” Draco nodded. “We can’t survive for long on mushrooms and herbs, Hermione, as much as we want to. We need some sustenance.”

“Be careful,” she said urgently. “Make sure you’re not seen.”

“We will,” Draco smiled at her before turning to Harry. “Ready?” Harry nodded wordlessly, not meeting his eyes. Draco tried to gulp down the feeling of anger and hurt at the continued silent treatment. “Great,” he said, faking cheerfulness. “Let’s go, then.” He held out his arm for Harry, who took it reluctantly. 

And then, they apparated - right into a hoard of Dementors. 

“What the -” Draco hissed, shaking his wand into his hand.  _ “Expecto Patronum!” _

His arctic fox immediately materialised, chasing after the nearest Dementors, keeping them at bay. On Harry’s side, though, they kept approaching, and Draco looked over at him, noting that Harry was just standing next to him, frozen and pale.

“What are you doing?” Draco called. “Cast!”

Harry raised his wand slowly, whispering the spell with a feeble voice. Nothing happened. Draco blinked. Due to his lack of focus, his fox faded from existence. 

“What the -” Draco muttered. He grabbed his wand a little tighter in sudden determination, thinking of the way Harry had held him on the Hogwarts grounds, had kissed him as if he’d wanted to imprint his feelings onto Draco, had wanted to make up for all the time he had spent not kissing him.  _ “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”  _ Draco called, and his fox was back, brighter than ever before, its light so blinding that Draco had to shield his eyes against it.

He could hear the Dementors retreating, and when he lowered his hand again, they were alone on the hill facing the town. His fox was sitting at their feet, staring up at them curiously, as if waiting for further instructions. Draco smiled at it, and it faded from existence. 

“My Patronus,” Harry whispered next to him, sounding shell-shocked. “It just… it wouldn’t come. I tried, and it just wouldn’t -”

“But why?” Draco asked, thunderstruck. “You haven’t had problems with that spell since third year. How come now of all times -”

“I don’t know, okay?!” Harry yelled, lashing out at him. “Gosh, can you stop pretending like I’m supposed to have all the answers?!”

“I never -” Draco started, but Harry didn’t let him finish.

“You keep fussing and sticking your nose in where you’re least wanted and I’m sick of it!” Harry snapped. 

Draco stared at him, feeling as if he’d been slapped. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears that it felt impossible to string a thought together.

It was then that Draco’s eyes fell on the locket around Harry’s neck, and the logical part of Draco’s brain tried to call his attention back to it. It was hard, pushing through the panic that was building up inside of him, but finally, something clicked inside of him.

“Take off the locket,” he muttered.

“What?” Harry snapped. 

“Take it off,” Draco insisted. “Before I take it off you. I’m serious, Harry.”

Harry growled, but he did as Draco said, pulling the chain over his head in angry movements and practically throwing it in Draco’s face. The other boy barely caught it, waiting warily, watching as Harry froze, his eyes clearing and his face slacking.

“Better?” Draco asked, an edge to his voice.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, bringing a hand up to his chest and rubbing at it, an absent-minded look on his face. He caught Draco’s eyes, suddenly seeming horrified. “Shit,” he muttered. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean any of that.”

“I figured,” Draco muttered, though it was slightly stiff. He was still smarting from the verbal attack. “I told you wearing this was dangerous.” Draco slipped the locket into his jeans pocket and turned away from Harry. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some food and return to the tent, before the Dementors return, possibly with Death Eaters in tow.”

They got as much food as they could carry, Harry throwing Draco wounded looks all through the trip. Then, they returned to the tent and to their waiting friends, Draco telling them about the incident and the locket-related discovery. 

“Maybe Harry was just wearing it for too long?” Hermione bit her lip, her eyes roaming her friend's face as if she was expecting to find any after-effects. “We should take turns.”

“We should not wear it at all,” Draco argued. “It’s too dangerous.”

“After what we went through to get it?” Weasley demanded. “I did not lose a chunk of my arm for you gamble the thing away again, Malfoy!”

“Is it really so much of a risk to keep it somewhere that’s not around our necks?!” Draco argued, incensed. “We have pockets, bags, whatever.”

“It could slip out,” Hermione sighed. “Or we could lose the bag.”

“We can’t keep wearing it!” Draco called.

“We’ll have to be more careful,” Hermione agreed. “Keep an eye out for each other. No more than twelve hours at a time, and as soon as someone shows signs of losing control, we switch. Deal?”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry muttered, though he did not meet Draco’s eyes. Most likely, he knew that Draco would disapprove.

“Whatever,” Draco sighed, handing the locket to Hermione. “But you’ll be the guinea pig. I want to see how well you’ll fare with your twelve hours before I agree.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione nodded, taking the locket and putting it on, hiding it under her sweater. 

Draco rolled his eyes before storming into the tent, busying himself in the kitchen. He was starting to cut some onions for dinner when Harry came up behind him, timidly asking: “... Draco?”

“Not now, Harry,” Draco hissed, in an abysmally bad mood. The last thing he needed now was dealing with Harry’s guilt over treating Draco like shit while under the influence of the locket. 

Harry was silent for a long moment, before pushing on: “Do you need help?”

Draco shrugged, gesturing to the potatoes he had taken out of their shopping bags. “Peel those, if you want to,” he said. “I’m frying them, with some onions and bacon. Should be filling enough for his Royal Highness King Weaselby, shouldn’t it?”

Harry didn’t say anything; instead, he silently got to work, effectively peeling and cutting the potatoes and silently watching Draco as he applied the basic cooking charms he’d learned from his aunt and fried the lot. 

They did not exchange a word for the rest of the day. 

Hermione handed the locket to Draco the next morning after he had woken up. 

“It feels strange,” she warned him. “It messes with your head a little, but I think it’s manageable if we stick to short intervals.”

“If you say so,” Draco grumbled, slipping the chain over his own head. He felt a heaviness settle over him as the locket came to rest against his chest, and he took an unsteady breath.

“Tell me if you start feeling funny,” Hermione instructed. “We can end your turn earlier, if necessary.”

Draco nodded, and then she was off, her turn to prepare their breakfast. 

###B###

Draco spent the meal in silence, feeling strangely secluded from the group, as if there was a wall separating him from them. It was good food, eggs, buttered toast and bacon, but it tasted like ash in his mouth. He listened to them talk amongst themselves, and after a while, their voices became stifling. 

So as soon as they were busy cleaning up, he used the distraction to slip away, eager for some peace and quiet.

No one noticed.

Of course, no one noticed. No one ever noticed Draco’s absence. They were probably relieved to be rid of him for a while. What had Harry said? 

_ ‘You keep fussing and sticking your nose in where you’re least wanted and I’m sick of it!’ _

He had said it under the influence of the locket, but had the locket really made him lie? After all, Harry had been behaving strangely for a while. He had distanced himself from Draco, bit by bit; had refused his comfort where he had once searched it; had lashed out at him where he had once been gentle. 

That hadn’t started with the locket. That had been there for a while.

Maybe Harry just didn’t want him around any longer.

The thought made it hard for Draco to draw air. He walked and walked, unable to see where he was going. What was he supposed to do, if Harry didn’t want him anymore? He had given up everything for him. He didn’t have a life without Harry. He didn’t  _ want  _ a life without Harry!

Then again, was he really surprised? Part of him had always known he wasn’t good enough. There had always been Weasley there to remind him, for sure. To show him up wherever he was lacking, and to point out that really, he should have never been part of their little group.

And if he was being honest... when had any of them ever really listened to him? He was there, sure, handy in his skills and intellect, but when it came to making decisions, his input was constantly ignored. He had never been as important as Weasley or Hermione, even if Harry had always denied that sentiment. He was there, but he was not _really_ there, not in the ways that mattered. 

Draco came to a sudden halt. He had reached a pond, the water surface glistening in the sunlight, beckoning him. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. 

He  _ should have never been  _ part of their group. It was all because he had willfully inserted himself into it. If he hadn’t gotten the letter, Harry would have hated him, and he would have become Lucius Malfoy’s son. He would have played the part that had been shoved at Nott. 

That’s what he  _ should have  _ done. He’d just been too much of a coward, too selfish. 

He should make it right. He should just disappear and let Harry and the others live the life they were supposed to live.

The water seemed to be calling out to him. His heart was racing as he stepped closer and closer to the pond and then into it, as if in a trance. The coldness barely hit him. 

_ Soon, it will be over,  _ he thought.  _ Soon, everything will be as it should be. _

He didn’t hear the voices until he was waist-deep in the water. He held in, listening as they came closer.

“Draco?”

“Draco! Answer me!”

“Draco, where are you?”

Harry and Hermione. So his absence had been noticed, after all. He frowned, trying to clear his mind, but he couldn’t string a thought together. His vision was swimming, too. He hadn’t realised that he was crying. On his wrist, he felt heat insistently flaring up - Harry was trying to reach him through their bracelets. 

“Draco! Oh my god, what are you doing in the water?!” It was Hermione’s voice. Slowly, Draco turned around, seeing Hermione run towards him through the trees, her bushy hair wild and her face anxious. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she called. “Why did you suddenly disappear? You scared us!”

“Don’t come closer,” Draco breathed.

“What?” Hermione asked, coming to a reluctant halt.

“Don’t come closer,” Draco repeated, his voice cracking.

Hermione stared at him. Draco could see that she looked seriously frightened. 

“What are you doing in the water, Draco?” she asked once more, her voice urgent. “It’s freezing.”

Draco didn’t have an answer. Instead, all he managed to get out was a choked: “Leave me alone.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she paled. Then, she raised her voice, and yelled, on top of her lungs: “HARRY! HARRY, HE’S HERE!”

“Hermione?” came the muffled answer.

“Please!” Hermione called. “Please, get over here! Now!”

Draco automatically took a step backwards, further into the water. He couldn’t face Harry. Hermione shook her head, alarmed. 

“No!” she called, reaching out her hand as if to stop him. “Please, Draco -”

“Don’t come closer!” Draco hissed, his voice sharp.

“Then don’t do anything stupid!” she moaned. “Please, just - stay where you are!”

“Why do you care?” Draco demanded. “It’s not like anybody would care if I’m gone!”

Hermione looked stricken at that and it was in that moment that Harry burst through the trees, out of breath and eyes wild. 

“Hermione?” he called, and then his eyes landed on Draco, and an expression of absolute horror settled on his face. “Draco,” he breathed, “what are you doing?”

“It’s the locket, Harry,” Hermione said, and she sounded close to tears. “I think it affects him more than it affects us. He was once possessed by a Horcrux, after all. Maybe he’s more vulnerable to advances because his soul has already been breached?”

“Shit,” Harry cursed. “We should have thought of that!”

“We need to get the locket off him,” Hermione said, “before he hurts himself.”

“Draco,” Harry addressed him, very gently, taking a step forward. All that did though, was make Draco recoil, so Harry held in, eyes wide. Draco was now chest-deep in the water. “Draco, please,” he breathed. “Get out of there.”

“Why should I?” Draco challenged. “It’s not like  _ you  _ care!”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, making a good job of sounding despaired. Not that Draco fell for it. “Of course I care!”

“You never wanted me here, to begin with!” Draco yelled. “You tried to break up with me for months! You’ve ignored me for weeks! Just admit that you want me gone!”

Harry paled. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “That’s not - you’ve got this all wrong -”

“I was just a phase for you, and we both know it!” Draco yelled, barely able to breathe, he was sobbing so hard. “I should never have been part of your little group. If I just disappear -”

“No one wants you gone, Draco!” Harry called, and his voice was shaking now. “Least of all me! I need you!”

“Liar!” Draco yelled. “You’re just saying that so I won’t - you just want to save me again - I was always just a charity case! You never really wanted me!”

“That’s not true, and you know that,” Harry shook his head, his voice hardening now. “I’m very sorry for this, Draco, but you’re not yourself right now, and I need to put an end to this. For your own safety.”

And with that, Harry withdrew his wand and shot a Binding Hex at him. Draco was not prepared, yelling as the ropes slung around his arms and legs, incapacitating him. He wobbled dangerously but Harry had already lunged out, catching him and making sure that Draco didn’t topple over into the water. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “It will be okay in a moment. I promise.”

###E###

And then, he took hold of the locket and pulled it over Draco’s head.

The effect was immediate. It was like a weight had been lifted from his chest, and the clouds of despair scattered a little, clearing his mind and allowing rational thought once more. He felt the cold with a sudden, numbing intensity. He felt Harry’s body against his, arms wrapping around his trembling form as he freed him from his bonds and pulled him into a tight embrace. 

Harry was still holding the locket in his hand, though, and he could sense the dark magic reaching for him. Draco tried to scramble away from it, whimpering, and Harry froze, understanding dawning on him after only a moment.

“Hermione,” he said, turning to face their horrified friend. Draco saw that she, too, was crying, though she tried to compose herself. “Take this. Please.”

She nodded, summoning the locket. It flew into her hand. “You should get out of the water,” she suggested, her voice small. “You will both catch death.”

“You’re right,” Harry muttered, one hand moving up to Draco’s hair, gently cradling his head as he pulled away slightly to look at him. Harry’s eyes were wet, too, but he was clearly trying to keep it together for Draco’s sake. “Draco,” he said softly. “Let’s get out of here and back to the tent, okay?”

Draco gave an awkward jerk in response, something between a shrug and a nod, but he was shaking too violently to make either work. Harry gently but firmly led him out of the water and back onto dry land. As soon as they stepped out of the pond, Hermione pointed her wand at Draco and cast a Drying Charm on him. The dampness disappeared in a heartbeat, his clothes stiff and uncomfortable as a result, but the coldness remained. 

“Thanks,” Harry muttered after he had undergone the same treatment. His hand was rubbing insistent circles into Draco’s back. “Let’s get him under some blankets. He’s ice cold.”

Hermione nodded, turning on her heels and leading the way. Harry applied some pressure on Draco’s lower back, urging him to move, as well, which he did as if under Imperius. 

The walk back to the tent was longer than he would have anticipated. He hadn’t thought he had walked that far. All the while, Harry did not let go of him. As the tent came into sight, Hermione hurried ahead, disappearing inside. She reappeared with Weasley in tow, who was frowning, eyebrows raising when he caught sight of Draco. He wondered what he looked like. It couldn’t be good, for Weasley to look at him that way. 

“We’ll give you some privacy, Harry,” Hermione said in a hushed tone, as if Draco wasn’t standing right there. “Then you can -” she threw a glance at Draco, but cut herself off, chewing on her lip. “Just take care of him, will you?” she added, an edge to her voice.

“I will,” he promised, his arm tightening around Draco.

She nodded, and then she linked her arm with Weasley's and dragged him after her, disappearing into the woods.

Harry looked sideways at Draco, but Draco did not meet his eyes. “Let’s get you warm and cosy,” Harry muttered, gently manhandling him forward and through the tent opening.

Draco was barely aware of what he was doing. Harry was handing him clothes and Draco was changing into them, and then, he held up the blanket, and Draco slipped under it, numb to the softness of the mattress or the warmth of the covers. For the first time since they had left Grimmauld Place, though, Harry slipped into bed with him, pulling him against his chest to keep him close. 

Harry was much warmer than the blankets.

A long silence stretched out between them. Then, Harry whispered, his voice rough and raw: “Draco, I’m  _ so _ sorry.”

Draco wanted to ask what he was sorry for. After all, it had been Draco who had been too weak to resist the magic of the Horcrux, and who’d almost fallen victim to it; Draco, who’d needed saving  _ again. _

But he couldn’t voice any of that, and Harry was already continuing: “I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t  _ want  _ you. Like I didn’t  _ care _ . That’s as far from the truth as could be possible.”

“It was the locket talking, Harry,” Draco said, automatically.

“Yes, but the locket draws on fears that are already there, doesn’t it?” Harry shook his head. “I’ve worn it before you, I know how it works. When it was me… It kept bringing up the idea that you were all in danger because of me. That I was responsible because I was dragging you along, and I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. And especially after Ron got hurt, the fear of losing _you_ flared up again. I know we talked about this and rationally, I know that you’ve made a choice and are fully aware of what you’ve gotten yourself into, but when I was wearing the locket… It just spiralled out of control again, and I found it hard to even look at you, Draco.” He took a shaky breath. “So I know that these things you were feeling earlier… They weren’t - Horcrux- _ induced _ , so to speak. They were there, buried deep inside of you, and the Horcrux just drew them out.”

Draco gulped, unsure what to say in response. It was the truth, and he knew it. Harry tightened his arms around him, pressing his lips to his forehead. He lingered there, just breathing against Draco’s skin before he continued speaking.

“I love you so much, Draco. I love you so much that most of the time, I’m terrified of my own feelings. I feel like he must now, and he’ll try to take you away from me. And I wouldn’t survive that. Just the thought that his Horcruxes have now twice almost succeeded in killing you!”

“They didn’t -” Draco started to protest, but Harry cut him off.

“You were going to drown yourself! Don’t deny it!” And Harry was crying now, clinging to him. “If we had been too late -”

“You weren’t,” Draco breathed. 

Harry whimpered, just holding him for a moment. Shudders went through his body as he cried, and Draco’s own arms went around his waist, automatically reaching out to comfort him. It was a basic instinct of his. 

“I love you,” Harry sobbed, pressing a wet kiss against his temple. “I’m so sorry I pushed you so far away that you thought you didn’t matter to me. I didn’t realise. Why am I always doing that?”

“It’s not your fault,” Draco said, his voice small. “You have the world on your shoulders. I… shouldn’t be adding to that.”

“Draco, you’re not a burden!” Harry insisted, finally pulling away enough to catch his eyes. His face was smeared with tears and his eyes were red and swollen, but he looked determined all the same. “You’re the opposite of a burden! From the day that I met you, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have someone like you in my life!”

Draco’s throat felt tight at those words, but it seemed like Harry didn’t need an answer. He leaned in to press a kiss to Draco’s lips, tender but insistent all the same. 

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much. Please believe me.”

“You’ve never said that before today,” Draco breathed. “I wanted to, but I didn’t want to scare you because…”

“Because you were afraid I didn’t feel as deeply as you did,” Harry finished, closing his eyes. “Damn, I really fucked this up.” He took a shaky breath, before continuing: “I didn’t want to jinx it. Saying it out loud felt like tempting fate… so I didn’t.” He shook his head and held Draco a little tighter. “I’m not going to be that stupid anymore,” he murmured. “I’m going to make sure you know exactly how much I love you… so that something like today doesn’t happen again.”

An apology was on the tip of Draco’s tongue again, but before he could get it out, Harry was kissing him again, urgent and desperate, like he wanted to imprint himself on Draco. And Draco just let his eyes fall close and gave himself over to it, weak to Harry’s affection.

It had been so long since Harry had kissed him like that. These past few weeks, they had been walking on eggshells around each other, and Draco had missed this so much, the physical intimacy and Harry reaching out for him, kissing him like he was unable to contain himself. 

For a while, Draco had almost convinced himself that he had lost this.

He didn’t realise that he was crying until Harry’s fingers wiped away the tear tracks and he broke the kiss to whisper apologies and words of reassurance.

“I’m so sorry, Draco… I love you... “

“I love you, too,” Draco whispered, his voice trembling, “Please, kiss me again?”

And Harry did, his fingers curling in Draco’s hair as he wrapped himself around the other boy, as if trying to swallow him up completely. And Draco was grateful for it, because like this, with Harry all around him, kissing him and holding him and surrounding him completely, it was easier to drown out the lingering doubts in his mind, the ones that had been there all along but that the locket had brought to the surface and that were hard to shake off completely now. So he let Harry take over, let him try to chase away his demons, and he was nothing if not dedicated. He kissed and kissed and kissed him, as if Draco was going to disappear once he stopped, and his hands roamed over Draco’s body, tracing his shoulders and back and arms and waist and any part of him he could reach. When Draco shivered against him, though, Harry halted, pulling away to frown at him, expression more than a little concerned.

“You’re still freezing,” he pointed out.

“It’s getting better,” Draco shrugged.

“Not quickly enough,” he shook his head. “How long were you in that pond? Nevermind, I don’t want to know.” He moved to get up, and when Draco protested, he smiled at him and pecked his lips. “I’ll be right back,” he promised. “One sec!”

Draco let him go reluctantly, and Harry got to his feet. First, he drew out his wand and cast a Warming Charm over Draco. Then, he picked up Hermione’s beaded bag and summoned something. When Draco saw what he was holding, he stared at Harry, appalled.

“What is that monstrosity?” he demanded, pointing at the giant lump of cloth in Harry’s arms. 

“It used to belong to Dudley,” Harry shrugged.

“I thought you threw all of Dudley’s hand-me-downs out!” Draco called. “I gave you all these birthday presents with real clothes that fit you way better!”

“I know,” Harry smiled, dropping Dudley’s sweater on the bed next to Draco and slipping out of the one he was wearing. “I only kept a few things. This one, I kept because it’s big enough to wear above a lot of other layers, and it’s really warm.” He then picked up Dudley’s sweater and pulled it over his head. Indeed, it was so big that Harry could have fit in twice. Draco raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. “Get out of your own sweater,” Harry told him, slipping back under the cover.

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, confused. Harry just rolled his eyes, reaching for the hem himself, and Draco let out an indignant squeak as Harry undressed him. 

“Okay,” Harry nodded, discarding Draco’s sweater on the floor. “Now get in here with me.”

“What in Merlin’s name are you talking about, Harry?” Draco demanded, but Harry had already grasped his wrist and pulled up the hem of Dudley’s giant sweater. Then, Draco found himself pulled against Harry and smothered by that crime against fashion. Only with some manoeuvring and them almost banging their heads together did he manage to resurface, his head through the collar, though he had slung his arms around Harry’s bare torso instead of the sleeves. 

“There,” Harry smiled, his arms going around Draco to pull him flush against his body. “Better. They say body heat works wonders for hypothermia?” 

Draco raised his eyebrows, but he had to admit that he felt a little warmer like that. Harry’s bare skin was exuding a raw heat that he wanted to wrap himself up in and never surface from. Before he knew it, he was sighing and leaning his head against Harry’s shoulder.

“Have you always been so warm?” he murmured.

“You’ve just never been so cold,” Harry muttered, turning his head to kiss Draco’s cheekbone. “Please, Draco, don’t ever scare me like that again. I can’t stand it.”

“Sorry,” Draco whispered, blindly angling his face for another kiss. 

Harry met him halfway, pressing their lips together with such tenderness that Draco felt like he was going to come apart from it. He clung to Harry’s waist and parted his lips, urging Harry to deepen the kiss, so relieved he could have cried again when he did. But no, that would have ruined the mood, and he wouldn’t have that, not when Harry was finally touching and kissing him like he had before they had left Hogwarts; before this whole mess had started. He could almost imagine that they were back in the Room of Requirement for Draco’s birthday; Harry kissing him with such focused attention that Draco was ready to believe that nothing else existed in the world but him. 

***B***

And like that, the physical need for Harry, the one he had tried so hard to push down while sharing a bed with him at Grimmauld Place, was flaring up again in full force. He pushed himself against Harry’s body, digging his fingers into his skin, and Harry moaned against him, shivering, though it was clearly not from the cold. 

“Draco,” Harry breathed against his lips, fisting Draco’s blond hair as if in an attempt to reign himself in. 

“Please, Harry,” Draco begged, not even sure what he was asking for. He wanted intimacy. He wanted to be held. He wanted to feel good. He wanted release. Above all, he wanted  _ Harry,  _ and when Draco pushed his hips against Harry’s, his pyjama bottoms doing little to conceal the bulge in his pants, Harry gasped into the kiss and pushed back, making it clear that his need for Draco was just as urgent.

And wasn’t that exhilarating to know?

Draco made a choked sound and went for the buttons of Harry’s jeans. Why he hadn’t bothered to change out of his spell-dried clothes, Draco didn’t know, but they needed to go. Meanwhile, Harry fumbled with the sleeves of his overgrown sweater, trying to move his arms back out of them so he could touch Draco properly underneath the fabric. He freed his arms just in time to help Draco pull down his trousers, and once he’d shimmied out of them, he went for Draco’s, evening the field. When they were both naked waist-down, Harry’s hands went to Draco’s hips, aligning their bodies properly.

Draco moaned at the sensation, feeling Harry's erection brush against his. They hadn’t been physically intimate since that time in the Room of Requirement, and it felt like a lifetime ago now. He sucked on Harry’s bottom lip, shuddering when Harry’s hand closed around his erection. 

“Oh, Merlin,” he breathed. 

Harry smiled and kissed down to his throat, remembering all of Draco’s sensitive spots and making good use of them, and Draco clung to Harry’s back, trying not to fall apart as he moved his hand purposefully over Draco’s shaft. Draco shuddered from the pleasure and unclenched one hand from Harry’s skin, bringing it to Harry’s hard prick and running his fingers along its length.

Harry, though, hissed and twitched in surprise, pressing his face into Draco’s neck.

“How are your fingers still so cold?” he moaned. “You should be warming up!”

“Sorry?” Draco offered helplessly. 

“Let’s just -” Harry muttered, and he let go of Draco’s shaft for long enough to replace Draco’s hand with his own and align their pricks next to each other’s once more. Then, his hand closed around both of them, and he started to jerk them off like that. 

“Oh,” Draco stuttered out, returning to clinging to whatever part of Harry he could reach. “Oh, that’s -”

“I’m close,” Harry murmured. “Draco -”

He kissed him again, and they reached their climaxes shortly after like that, together. They clung to each other after, panting and shuddering, and for the first time since he’d put on that locket, he felt pleasantly warm and content, and like everything was back in place; back the way it should be. 

***E***

Harry wrapped him up in a tight embrace, pressing his lips to Draco's forehead, and Draco closed his eyes, letting himself relax into the sensation of being loved and feeling safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information on what happens within the suicide attempt scene if you want to skip it: 
> 
> The Horcrux draws on all of Draco's insecurities, like the fear that he isn't wanted or doesn't belong with the group and that Harry doesn't love him anymore and convinces Draco that the only way to escape the situation is to disappear entirely by drowning himself. He slips away from the group unnoticed, but Hermione and Harry find him before he can do any real harm to himself. They realise quickly that the Horcrux has a bigger influence on Draco because he had already been possessed by one in the past, so his soul is more vulnerable. Harry approaches Draco in the water and binds him with robes so he can take off the locket. 
> 
> Relevant information in case you want to skip the sex scene: 
> 
> Draco is still extremely cold throughout but feels warmer towards the end - if he's really warmer physically or if it's just his emotional perception is up for your interpretation. Fact is that Harry and Draco haven't been physically intimate for months and the return to that makes Draco feel safe in terms of their relationship. He needs the physical proof of Harry's feelings as much as the words to believe them.


	9. And So Four Became Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the next chapter! Not gonna say much - enjoy :)

Draco must have drifted off in Harry’s arms at some points. He only came to again when he heard Hermione’s soft voice, but he felt so comfortable that he didn’t bother opening his eyes.

“... he alright?”

“I hope so. We talked for a long time. He didn’t warm up at first, and I think he might have a slight fever now. He feels very warm.”

“I have some Pepper Up in my bag. We can give it to him when he wakes up.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Harry… Please, be careful with him.”

“Hermione -”

“I didn’t want to say anything before, because I know you’re dealing with a lot, but he’s… fragile, in a way. He instantly turns to self-deprecation and self-doubt as soon as something goes awry, and it worries me sometimes. He’s not been dealing well with your behaviour at all, though he was trying really hard to be patient and make no trouble.”

Harry was silent for a long moment. He ran his fingers across Draco's shoulder in gentle circles.

“I don’t understand why he always assumes the worst,” Harry muttered. “I thought it was obvious how much I love him. It didn’t occur to me that he would think…” he gulped. 

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Draco wondered if he should let them know that he was awake, but his mind was too clouded. 

“Draco is much more insecure than he lets on,” Hermione sighed. “Always has been, Harry. You just have to accept that and work with it.”

“It’s more than insecurity,” Harry murmured, and his arms tightened around Draco for a moment. “I can’t put my finger on it, but… something is wrong, Hermione. There’s something about the way his mind works sometimes that isn’t quite right. And it scares me.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, sounding unsure now. 

“I don’t know?” Harry sighed. “I wished I knew. I just have this gut feeling that something is wrong with him.”

“Harry… I think what happened today just really frightened you,” Hermione replied, obviously trying to comfort him. “And I can’t blame you, it was terrifying. But I think it was the locket making it happen.”

“No, Hermione,” Harry shook his head. “The locket only triggered it. And I haven’t only had this feeling since today, either. I’ve had it since Draco and I started dating… I wished I could explain it better, but I can’t… It’s just…” He sighed, clearly frustrated. “I don’t know. And I keep making things worse, too. I seem to have a talent for not noticing when he’s spiralling. It happened in fourth year, and now again, and in general, I missed him being in love with me all this time and -”

“Now you’re just looking for reasons to blame yourself, Harry,” Hermione shook her head. “I can’t deny that you’re… oblivious, sometimes, and it makes things difficult for Draco when he’s suffering. But introspective is the first step to betterment. If you know this about yourself, you can work on it. Just try to keep one eye on Draco, and I can poke you, too, if I think you’re becoming too distracted by other things. Then I’m sure things will turn out alright.”

“I hope you’re right,” Harry whispered, and his fingers gently caressed Draco’s hair. “I’m so sick of doing wrong by him.”

Hermione was saying something else, but her voice became blurred, then, and he gently faded from consciousness to the sensation of Harry’s fingers in his hair.

The next morning, he did not remember the conversation he had overheard. 

“Are you quite sure you’re fit to apparate, Draco?” Hermione asked tentatively, scanning his face. 

“Of course I am,” Draco scoffed. “I merely had some temperature overnight, and the Pepper Up took care of that. If Weasley is declared safe for Apparition, so am I.” He noticed Hermione and Harry throw each other a meaningful look. Harry’s jaw was clenched.  _ “What?” _ Draco asked, on the defensive now. 

“Draco,” Harry said, in his no-nonsense-voice, turning to face him. “You’re not just saying this to make our lives easier, right? Because if you’re keeping silent about feeling unwell just to not be a burden -”

“Oh, Salazar,” Draco groaned. “You can’t be serious!”

“Well, can you blame me for asking?” Harry shot back.

“Me speaking my mind and you refusing to listen is a far more regular occurrence than me keeping silent,” Draco snapped, embarrassed at the fuss they were making. “Now, can we please get a goon?”

“You heard him,” Weasley grumbled. “Let’s move on.” He was in a spectacularly bad mood, since he had been chosen to wear the locket today. Draco tried not to feel guilty about that. It had been the unanimous decision by the Gryffindor trio that Draco would, under no circumstances, be asked to wear, hold or if it could be helped, be near the locket again. Instead, they would take turns wearing it and make sure it would not take hold of anyone’s emotions the way it did of Draco’s. 

Draco did not feel good about that decision. Not only did he hate that he was exempt from the mission by his apparent weakness to any piece of the Dark Lord’s soul, but he also hated the thought that his friends and boyfriend would still be exposed to the dangerous object regularly. 

It turned out that Draco’s fears were not entirely unfounded. He could tell whose turn it was to wear the locket by the way they behaved over the next couple of weeks. Hermione became irritable and snappy, but truly, she handled the influence of the dark object the best by far. Harry became withdrawn and quiet. Sometimes he’d lash out, and then he’d immediately apologise and become inconsolable about his own behaviour. 

Weasley, though, was by far the worst.

Maybe it was the fact that Draco had never particularly enjoyed his company to begin with, but whenever he was under the influence of the Horcrux, he became this monster that wanted to claw everyone’s eyes out. Or maybe Draco wanted to claw his eyes out. One of the two. He’d complain incessantly, he’d pick fights and bully everyone. Draco had held his tongue at first, still feeling bad about the fact that he alone was unable to wear the damned locket, but after a while, he'd had enough and had started to fire insults back, and it had only heated up the atmosphere. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

It didn’t help that they didn’t always have the best ingredients available to cook meals with. They kept sneaking things and sometimes Draco and Harry would take a trip into Muggle villages to stop by a shop and get some of what Weasley called “human food” as opposed to the mushrooms, berries and herbs Hermione collected from the forest, but even when they did, Weasley managed to find something to complain.

“It tastes bland,” he commented on the fry up Draco had attempted after a trip to the village. “Like I’m chewing on flobberworms. Have you heard of seasoning, Malfoy?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Draco snapped, turning on him. “Maybe next time, you can take over kitchen duty and show us how it’s done!”

Weasley huffed, rolling his eyes. They all knew he didn’t help a lick with the cooking. Draco had almost taken it over single-handedly, since he was the most adept at cooking charms, and often Harry assisted him, since he’d had to take over the cooking in his aunt’s kitchen a lot when he was a child. Hermione, who was horrible at cooking but good at identifying edible stuff in the wild, had other duties. Weasley, though, seemed to think it was his sole task to criticise everyone. 

The same pattern applied to other fields of their shared runaway life as well. Whenever they brainstormed for new ideas on how to proceed in their Horcrux hunt, Weasley only ever demanded that others cracked open their brains and presented a miraculous solution, while he himself sat back and threw around nasty comments. 

They kept circling around the same ideas, though: Albania, Borgin & Burkes, Hogwarts and the orphanage the Dark Lord was raised in. 

They quickly crossed Albania off the list, figuring that it was too late down the timeline. He had only created his snake, Nagini, in Albania, and he was keeping her close. It was unlikely he had hidden anything there throughout his prolonged stay. 

Just as unlikely seemed Borgin & Burkes. Not only were the shop owners experts on Dark Magic and would have recognised any such object brought into their job, but the Horcrux would have been remarkably unsafe there, as well. 

So what they ended up actually investigating was the orphanage. They found out its location through library records, but it had been demolished and turned into an office building. It was doubtful that the Dark Lord had hidden anything at such a plain-looking place.

That left them without any new ideas, though, so they kept travelling the countryside, Weasley becoming more snappy with each passing day. On an almost daily base, he demanded of Draco to hand over the necklace Dumbledore had bestowed upon him so he could check on his family, and while Draco shared his heirloom gladly with all of them, he disliked how Weasley acted like he was entitled to it. Like he was the only one away from home, the only one with a burden to carry. He was almost tempted to deny him the usage once or twice, but he knew all that would do was start a fight of epic proportions, and he was loath to do that to Harry and Hermione. 

Though, mind you, Harry seemed close to start one himself.

“They’re whispering behind my back again,” Harry grumbled, making Draco drop his book as he came to sit down next to him, at the very corner of their protection spells. 

“Hermione and Weasley?” Draco asked, frowning. He had noticed that they had taken to doing that; they had their own, private conversations in hushed tones that would end abruptly as soon as Harry or Draco approached. His theory was that Hermione was trying to talk Weasley down throughout those little talks, but of course, it was hard to convince Harry of that.

“Who else are we travelling with?” he sighed. “I wish they’d just tell me to my face if they had a problem.”

“I doubt Hermione is the one with a problem,” Draco rolled his eyes. “She hasn’t been the one bitching around.”

Harry sighed, leaning sidewards so his head rested against Draco’s shoulder. “I don’t know what they expect me to do,” he muttered.

“No one expects you to do anything,” Draco ensured him. “There was always going to be a completely shit time, and this is it. It will pass. We’ll find a new clue eventually, and things will move forward. Don’t lose hope.”

Harry nodded but didn’t say anything. Then, he asked: “What are you reading?”

“Rita Skeeter’s autobiography of Dumbledore,” Draco rolled his eyes. “I nicked it from Umbridge’s office.”

“Really?” Harry asked, looking up in interest. “You never said.”

“It’s utter shite, Harry,” Draco pointed out. “I didn’t want you to angst over the trash she was spreading, on top of everything else.”

Harry, though, didn’t appear to be listening. He took the book from Draco’s lap and turned the pages, looking at the pictures. Draco sighed deeply, watching him. Then, Harry froze, gasping loudly.

“That’s the thief!” he called.

“What?” Draco asked, blinking.

“The thief that stole from Gregorovitch! That’s him!”

Draco leaned in to glance at the photo Harry was indicating. It showed a teenage Dumbledore, blond and beardless, laughing with a handsome stranger around his age. The caption read:  _ ‘Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother’s death, with his friend Gellert Grindelwald.’ _

“Grindelwald?!” Draco called, appalled. 

“I thought you had read the book?!” Harry demanded.

“I’m barely past the second chapter!” Draco said defensively. “What in Merlin’s name was he doing hanging around with a madman like Grindelwald?!”

“Well, looks like the old man had many secrets,” Harry muttered, his voice icy. “But fact is, that’s the thief. He stole whatever You-Know-Who’s after.”

Draco frowned, considering this. “Well, Grindelwald was an evil bastard himself,” Draco pointed out. “He terrorised the whole of Europe, and parts of the rest of the world, if I remember correctly. I’m not surprised if he and the Dark Lord share - um - the same interests, so to say.”

“I guess so,” Harry frowned. “I wonder what it is that You-Know-Who’s after?”

“Well, Gregorovitch’s a wandmaker,” Draco reminded him. “If I were to guess, I’d say it’s a wand.”

“He has Ollivander as a captive, though,” Harry pointed out. “Why would he need a specific wand if Ollivander could just make him any wand he pleases.”

Draco bit his lip, contemplating. “There are legends,” he told Harry, “about wands that are more powerful than others. Maybe he’s looking for a wand like that.”

“Hmmm,” Harry hummed, his face thoughtful. “He might be. After all, the fact that his wand and mine share a core…”

“It’s a hindrance to him,” Draco agreed. “He might want a wand that can attack you properly. But not any wand, it seems.”

“It would make sense,” Harry nodded. Then, he looked at Draco. “Do you know where Grindelwald is?”

“No clue,” Draco shrugged. “Dumbledore defeated him, and then he was sentenced for his crimes by an international jury, as far as I remember… But I don’t remember what the punishment was.”

“Let’s just hope You-Know-Who doesn’t find him,” Harry sighed. “One thing we don’t need is him with some kind of super-wand.”

Draco sighed and entwined their fingers, silently agreeing. 

The weeks rolled by and they soon lost track of time. It was easy to do, in the midst of their isolation. So when they actually heard familiar voices near where they had set up camp for the night, it was like they had been hit over the head with a Bludger.

It was a group of six, four wizards and two goblins. The goblins went by the names Griphook and Gornuk, though Draco couldn’t have cared less about them, since his whole attention was swallowed up by the people he actually knew. The first voice he recognised was that of his former teammate: his Chaser, Yatin Bhagat. He was accompanied by Dean Thomas, and, to add another familiar face, Killian Thompson, one of the Hufflepuffs who had hung out with Abbas at the end of last term and who he distinctly remembered his Beater fancying. The fourth wizard in their round was a former Ministry employee, Dirk Cresswell. 

“So, how long have you been on the run?” Killian asked as they were roasting some fish over an open fire between them.

“Six weeks… Seven… I forget…” Cresswell answered tiredly. “Met up with Griphook in the first couple of days and joined forces with Gornuk not long after. Nice to have a bit of company. How long have you kids been out here?”

“Since the start of the term?” Dean replied. “Knew I couldn’t go back to Hogwarts.”

“Muggleborn, eh?” Cresswell asked.

“Not sure,” Dean said. “My Dad left my Mum when I was a kid. I’ve got no proof he was a wizard, though.”

“Well, I’m 100% Muggleborn,” Killian shrugged. “No choice but to run, really. I met Yatin after a couple of days.”

“I graduated this summer, actually,” Yatin sighed. “Was supposed to start my junior position at the Department of Magical International Cooperation just a few days before the Ministry changed its stance on Muggleborn wizards. Then, I got summoned to a trial instead. I didn’t turn up, naturally. Knew there would be nothing like a fair hearing under any circumstances. And anyway, they had all my family records already. I had to hand them in when I applied for the job.”

Draco gulped as he listened. He’d never even had an inkling that Yatin was Muggleborn. He had certainly hidden it well from his housemates. Then again, in a house like Slytherin, he’d probably had to. 

“We met Dean about a month ago,” Killian told them, quite cheerfully. “We’ve been sticking together ever since.”

“Good decision,” Cresswell answered. “Dangerous world out there. It’s better to have someone who’ll have your back if things go awry.”

“So, what’s your story?” Killian asked, and Cresswell then launched into a tale of having been caught and making an escape halfway to Azkaban. Griphook and Gornuk then gave a report on the state of Gringotts, how the Wizarding Bank, too, was now in the Dark Lord’s hands rather than under the goblin leadership it had been for centuries. They'd refused to bow to the new ownership, so they’d left. It was when Snape’s name was brought up, though, that the conversation became interesting again. There was mention of a couple of students trying to break into Snape’s office to steal Gryffindor’s sword - Ginny’s name was the only one specifically mentioned. They'd been caught, though, and he'd sent the sword to Gringotts for it to be kept there instead. 

“It’s a fake,” Griphook chuckled. Draco exchanged startled looks with Harry and Hermione.

“What?” Killian gasped.

“Oh yes! It is a copy - an excellent copy, it is true - but it was wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by goblins and had certain properties only goblin-made armour possesses. Wherever the genuine sword of Gryffindor is, it is not in the vault at Gringotts Bank.”

“Well, well,” Yatin chuckled. “And I guess you didn’t enlighten him?”

“I saw no reason to trouble them with the information,” Griphook told them, quite smugly, making all of them laugh. 

Draco’s mind was reeling with the news. The sword of Gryffindor in Snape’s possession was a fake. That meant Dumbledore must have exchanged it with a copy and hidden the real one somewhere for them to find.

But where?

“What happened to Ginny and the others?” Dean asked, pulling Draco from his thoughts. “The ones who tried to steal it?” 

“Oh, they were punished, and cruelly,” Griphook answered, quite indifferently, making Draco freeze in alarm.

“Are they okay?” Yatin asked, quite sharply. “Who was there?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Griphook demanded. “I only heard the reports from her brother Bill. The only ones he mentioned were his sister and her boyfriend, I think… But they suffered no serious injuries, as far as I am aware.”

Draco bit his lip, trying to push down his anxiety. Ginny and Ryan… He’d have to use his necklace later to check for himself whether Griphook’s reports were the truth. 

“Lucky fools,” Cresswell muttered. “Should have just lain low. No use, getting in trouble in the current political climate.”

“If I learned one thing throughout my final years at Hogwarts, it’s that it gives others hope to see people stand up to injustice,” Yatin contradicted. “There’s this bloke from my house, Draco Malfoy?” Draco froze, blinking at the mention of his own name. He could feel Harry’s eyes on his face. “Heir of the Malfoy family, would-be perfect example for pureblood elitism. When I first saw him as a kid, I thought he was a stuck up snob, to tell you the truth. But then he took up with Potter and his lot, and that changed everything.” 

“It really was strange, at first,” Killian agreed, and Draco could hear the smile on his face. “Seeing the two of them attached by the hip. People had been telling the most horrid stories about Slytherins when I started at Hogwarts. That was also the year the Chamber of Secrets was opened. But then I saw Draco and Harry together all the time and I figured… well, you couldn’t all be so bad.”

“That certainly worked in our favour,” Yatin laughed. “But what was more important was that he basically told his father and our narrow-minded housemates to fuck off. Watching that happen was…  _ marvellous _ , honestly. I’d learned to keep my head down and my opinions to myself, to stay out of trouble, but Draco… He showed the rest of us misfits that there was another path, and that was  _ huge. _ ”

“That’s what Abbas told me,” Killian chuckled. “That he’d never really fit in with his housemates, but he’d always played the part. And when he became part of Draco’s team, things started to change because he met new people who thought like him.”

“I think that’s what happened for all of us,” Yatin agreed. “So I get why Ginny and Ryan would keep fighting, even if it puts them in danger. Because  _ someone  _ has to. They can’t give up.”

Draco felt choked when they had finished speaking. Harry reached out for his hand, entwining their fingers.

“That’s noble and all,” Cresswell sighed. “But I thought that was the job of the Potter boy? Spreading hope and saving all our asses? But where is he, huh? Hiding away, or probably dead, for all we know.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean hissed.

“He can’t be dead,” Yatin said, sounding amused. “Draco won’t allow it.”

Draco bit his lip, trying not to laugh. He saw that Harry, too, was smiling, though his eyes were still troubled.

“True,” Killian laughed. “He seems like a stubborn one.”

“You have no idea,” Yatin snorted. 

Their conversation faded off then, and the four of them scrambled back to their tents, paranoid of being overheard despite their protective charms. When they were quite sure of their privacy, Hermione scrambled for her beaded bag and procured the portrait of former Headmaster Phineas Nigellus, which had apparently been placed at Grimmauld Place and Hermione had taken along to make sure Draco’s ancestor couldn’t spy on them and report to Snape - Draco had no idea any of that had even happened; no one told him  _ anything _ , did they?! - and she proceeded to blindfold and interrogate him about the events they had just overheard. 

It turned out the last time the sword had been taken out of its case, as far as Phineas knew, was when Dumbledore had used it to destroy the ring that carried the second Horcrux already off their list. It had not needed to be taken out for cleaning or any other reason, seeing that it was goblin-made and dust didn’t stick. It absorbed only what strengthened it. Which meant, Draco realised immediately, his heart racing, that it could destroy Horcruxes. After all, Harry had killed the Basilisk with it. It had been drenched in poison, and they had already established that Basilisk poison would be destructive enough to finish a Horcrux.

They also found out that the students involved in the attempted theft were Ginny, Ryan, Neville, Luna and Yurika. As a punishment, they had been sent into the Forbidden Forest to do work for Hagrid. An immense feeling of relief followed that particular news - after all, a trip to the forest with Hagrid was hardly the worst kind of punishment they could have received, under the circumstances. Heck, they’d probably even had fun carrying out whatever task Hagrid had given them, knowing Ryan and Luna. 

So when they finally stuffed the portrait back into Hermione’s bag and sunk into an animated discussion about all the new information they had just received, they were on their feet, pacing and excitable, firing thoughts and ideas at each other in a way they hadn’t in weeks. 

"Did he give you any clues?" 

"No, he didn't," Harry shook his head, wringing his hands. "At least, I think he didn't? He could be pretty cryptic sometimes."

"Think, Harry," Hermione begged. "Where might he have put it for you to find?"

"Not at Hogwarts," Harry shook his head, still pacing. 

"Hogsmeade, then?" Hermione suggested. 

"The Shrieking Shack?" Harry guessed.

"No," Draco said decisively. "He didn't trust Snape enough to tell him he swapped the swords, so he must have hidden it somewhere out of Snape's direct reach, just in case." He frowned, glancing at Hermione before continuing: "What about Godric's Hollow? It's Gryffindor's and Harry's birthplace… It's the only place with a connection for both of them, apart from Hogwarts."

Hermione seemed wary at his words, but Harry's eyes gleamed as they met his. "You're right!" he breathed. "That's brilliant, Draco!" He turned to address Weasley, who had been remarkably quiet throughout their exchange. "What do you reckon, Ron?"

Weasley was perched on one of the bunk beds, expression a mask of boredom, but the red flush of his skin gave away his pent up frustration. "Oh, remembered me, have you?" he snapped, making Draco roll his eyes.

"What  _ now _ ?" he scoffed. "For weeks, you've been getting on our nerves about doing something, and now we're about to and you're still not happy?"

"Well, excuse me if I don't skip up and down the tent because there's some other damned thing we've got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don't know." He gestured to Harry with those last words, making Draco see red. 

Harry, though, was quicker to retaliate. "I don't know?" he repeated, incredulous. " _ I _ don't know?"

"Whoever bloody said it's Harry's responsibility to know everything?" Draco called. "Dumbledore was a secretive bastard who failed to share the important things with him before he died, and now we're all trying to crack the puzzle, as a  _ team!  _ So blaming Harry is bloody rich!"

"Oh, of course,  _ you _ would say that," Weasley sneered. "You've always worshipped the ground he walks on. He can't do wrong in your eyes, can he?"

Draco flushed, feeling uncomfortably called out.

"Ron," Hermione said warningly, but he elected to ignore her.

"If you have a problem with me, say it," Harry spoke up, his tone deceptively calm. Dangerous. "Don't lash out at Draco."

"Right," Weasley snorted. "Wouldn't want to hurt precious  _ Draco's  _ feelings. We all know how easy that's to do."

"Stop!" Harry snapped, green eyes flashing. "What's your problem?"

"My problem?!" Weasley snarled. "I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running around a few weeks, we'd have achieved something!"

Draco couldn't help it: He laughed, humourless and cold. He could see Hermione fidget where she stood. "Oh, and that coming from the one person who has refused to give us any valuable input ever since we left Grimmauld Place! Admit it, you're just pissed you don't have someone to cook you stellar meals three times a day, that's why you're throwing a fuss like a five-year-old!"

"Oh, you're one to talk!" Weasley growled. "Who got out of wearing that damned locket with a nice swimming trip?"

Draco blanched and Harry growled. "Stop talking  _ now,  _ Ron, or I swear -"

"You'll what?" he challenged. "Punch me? Hex me? We all know that if anyone dares to say anything against him, you'll make them pay. I've had to tiptoe around him for years."

"You're so full of shit," Draco muttered, shaking his head. "I can count the instances Harry called you out for your bullshit on one hand. If anyone's had a free pass here, it's you!"

"Oh, and when have you  _ ever _ been called out?" Weasley shot back.

"Maybe I'm just not as much of an insensitive prick as you!" Draco snapped. 

"Will you two stop it" Hermione pleaded. "This is getting us nowhere. Ron -"

"I still don't understand what part of this isn't living up to your expectations," Harry interrupted her, clearly incensed. "Did you think we'd be staying in five-star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you'd be back to Mummy by Christmas?"

"We thought we knew what you were doing!" Weasley shouted. "We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!"

"Who's 'we'?" Draco demanded, turning to Hermione now. She stared at him with wide eyes, frantically shaking her head.

"Well, sorry to let you down," Harry told Weasley, completely ignoring their little exchange. "I've been straight with you from the start, I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in case you haven't noticed, we've found one Horcrux -"

"Yes, and we're about as near to getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them - nowhere fucking near, in other words!"

"Take off the locket, Ron," Hermione pleaded. "Please, take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this -"

"Don't put it on the locket'" Draco interrupted her, sharp eyes on her now. "Harry's come to me for weeks, complaining about how you two keep whispering behind our backs. I knew he was going to blow up eventually. I just didn't think you shared his views."

Hermione looked like she'd been slapped. 

"Draco - I don't -" she started. 

"Don't lie!" Weasley snapped. "You said it, too, you said you were disappointed, you said you'd thought he had a bit more to go on than -"

"I didn't say it like that - Harry, I didn't!" she called, turning to him with tears in her eyes. 

"Well, for someone so smart, you're more stupid than I realised," Draco pointed out coldly. "Harry's never been one to keep secrets from us. That was your speciality. Remember fifth year?"

Hermione threw him a wounded look, but he just glowered back. He knew he was lashing out and he felt justified in his anger. He'd never been so disappointed with Hermione before. 

"And you," Draco snapped, in a mood now, turning to Weasley. "You've  _ always _ been a troublemaker. As long as I've known you, you've made the people around you unhappy by being a selfish git!"

"That doesn't surprise me," Weasley snorted. "You never wanted me around to begin with!"

"Only because  _ you  _ tried to get rid of  _ me _ !" Draco shot back. "We both know you whispered warnings into Harry's ear from the moment you met me!"

"Don't pretend like I had no right to!" Weasley yelled. "Look at your family and all the trouble we got into because of your father!"

"Ron!" Hermione cried, the same moment that Harry took a step forward. "Please, stop."

"Draco saved Ginny's life in second year and almost died doing it," Harry ground out. "How  _ dare  _ you -"

"Oh,  _ now _ you care about Ginny?! Because you sure seemed rather blasé about her punishment!" Weasley shot back. 

"Ginny is fine!" Draco called. "We just heard they were paired with Hagrid, there's no way -"

"They went to the Forest! They still might have been hurt!"

"By Salazar, I gave you that damned necklace of mine  _ every bloody day,"  _ Draco called. "You would  _ know,  _ you moron!"

" - yeah, I get it, you don't care!" Weasley called. "You, with your mother in hiding and Harry with no family left -"

"Oh, nice," Draco sneered. "Those are our friends, too, you overdramatic troll! Not to mention that Harry loves your family like it's his own, but you wouldn't understand that, would you, you're so far up your arse -"

"Well, if I'm such a nuisance, maybe we should leave you and Harry to it!" Weasley yelled. "Like that, the two of you can finally fuck your way through this tent and Harry can focus his energy on making sure you don't off yourself -"

Draco hadn't even seen Harry move but before he knew it, his fist was colliding with Weasley's face. Hermione cried out for them to stop, throwing up a Shield Charm that threw them back a few steps, effectively separating them. Draco stood frozen, still reeling a little from Weasley's words as he watched the scene. 

"Then GO!" Harry roared. "Go back to your family, pretend you've got over your spattergroit and Mummy'll be able to feed you up and -"

"I will!" Weasley yelled. "Honestly, I've had enough of this!" 

"Well, good riddance!" Draco sneered. "Drop the Horcrux and be gone."

With a snarl, he pulled the locket over his head in one violent movement and flung it to the floor to Draco's feet. He forced himself not to step away, even though he could feel the dark magic reaching for him.

Weasley turned to Hermione. 

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice hard.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice shaky.

"Are you staying, or what?"

"I…" she threw a desperate look at Draco, then Harry, before her gaze returned to Weasley. "Yes - yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help -"

"I get it. You choose them." And with that, he shouldered past Draco and went for the tent exit.

"Ron, no -" Hermione called, hurrying after him. "Please - come back, come back!"

They could hear her call for Weasley through the thin walls of the tent, but there was no response. When she returned, she was sobbing, informing them that he'd disapparated. She threw herself onto the nearest bed and cried with abandon. Draco watched for a moment. Part of him still smarted from the fact that Hermione had indulged Weasley's poisonous talk. 

There was a long silence between them. Harry went to pick up the Horcrux at Draco's feet before making his way outside, probably to keep watch. 

Draco watched Hermione for a moment longer before tentatively sitting down next to her on the mattress, laying a hand on her shoulder. In response to his touch, she curled into him, her head in his lap as she seemed to cry even harder. Draco wordlessly stroked back her hair, offering silent comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to note once again that, though this fight turned really nasty, I don't hate Ron and this is in no way meant to be Ron-bashing. The conflict between Ron and Draco is a problem that's been dragging on and on through the entire series and now it's, quite literally, come to blows, with the help of the locket. It was bound to happen and I think this event is very necessary for Ron's character development.


	10. A Spectacularly Bad Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Here I am, back with the next chapter! I'm not going to say much here, I think it's better to just let you read. Enjoy!

When Hermione fell into an uneasy sleep, too exhausted from crying, Draco carefully disentangled himself from her clinging embrace and stood up from her bed. He was extra quiet as he left the tent to join Harry out near the fire. The other boy was mulishly staring out into the darkness, not even allowing himself to look up as Draco took the seat next to him, sitting so close that their sides were pressed together.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Are you okay?” Harry shrugged, not answering. Draco huffed out a soft sigh. “It’s all right not to be,” he muttered. “You don’t need to pretend in front of me.”

“I’m angry,” Harry brought out, his jaw clenched. Then, after a moment, he added: “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded. “That’s fine by me.” But he leaned sidewards against Harry until his head rested on his shoulder and lifted the woollen blanket Harry had brought as a protection against the cold, pulling until they shared it. 

“You should go inside,” Harry frowned. “Catch some sleep before we switch.”

“Nah, I’d rather stay here with you,” Draco murmured, snuggling into his boyfriend. “You’re warmer than my bed, anyway.”

“I really doubt that,” Harry sighed, but he moved to sling an arm around Draco’s waist. 

They stayed like that for a while, not moving, not talking. Draco was not surprised when Harry eventually burst out: “I can’t believe what he said to you.”

“Can’t you?” Draco challenged, turning his face to look at him and raising an eyebrow. 

Harry held his gaze for a long moment. “I knew that you two were never going to be real friends,” he said, eventually. “I’d accepted that. And I didn’t need you to get along, but  _ this _ -” Harry gulped, and he rested his forehead against Draco’s temple, breaking their eye contact. “The day the locket took control of you was the scariest of my life,” he whispered, his voice shaky. “To just go ahead and  _ taunt _ you with that… I wished I could have gotten in more than that punch.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. He knew that the day the Horcrux had made him walk into that pond was a sore spot for Harry. Using that as a weapon had been the most stupid move Weasley could have made, and they all knew it. 

So instead, he said: “Well, I wasn’t too pleased with what he said about you, either.”

Harry didn’t answer at first. Then, he muttered: “It’s not like it was much of a surprise. I almost expected it.”

“That doesn’t make it right, Harry,” Draco hissed, his own arms snaking around the other boy’s hips and holding tight. “I hope you know that what he did was fucked up and his fault alone, and you’re not at all to blame.” When again, Harry didn’t answer right away, he repeated, a little more urgently: “You know that, right?”

“I think so,” Harry breathed, pulling away a little to look at him. “It helps that you believe in me so unconditionally. Because whenever you stop trusting me, I know I fucked up badly.”

“Well, you still have me,” Draco pointed out, going for lightness. “So no fucking up detected.”

Draco was quite taken off guard when Harry pulled Draco into a lingering kiss. He melted into it, letting Harry brush their lips together tenderly. When Harry ended the kiss with a soft peck and a tight embrace, Draco was short of breath.

“I could just fall asleep like this, I think,” Harry murmured, relaxing against him. 

“Why don’t you?” Draco asked.

“It’s not your turn yet,” Harry chastised. “Also, you haven’t slept a wink!”

“I’m fine, I’m not tired,” Draco shrugged. “Clearly, you are. Get some sleep. You can pay me back when I’m in a slump.”

“You’re sure?” Harry breathed, but he was already shifting, making himself more comfortable in Draco’s embrace. Clearly, he was planning to sleep right where he was.

“Quite sure,” Draco nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Now stop worrying and shut your eyes.”

Harry sighed and did as Draco said. He was asleep within seconds. Draco held Harry as he slept, trying hard not to let his even breathing lull him to sleep, too.

The next morning, they took their time having breakfast and taking up camp. Hermione even suggested for Draco to catch a few more hours of sleep before they left, clearly trying to stall their departure, and Draco decided to humour her and give Weasley this last chance to turn around and make his way back to them.

Though, honestly, how he was supposed to find them with all the enchantments up was a whole different question. 

Draco slept for four hours and then, before Hermione could suggest lunch, he insisted they set out to find a new location.

Naturally, when they took down all the enchantments, there was no sign of Weasley. It wasn’t like Hermione hadn’t lingered around the borders of their safe barriers, waiting for a sign of him. She held it together until after they had disapparated before breaking down, succumbing to another wave of fresh tears. Draco set up all the protective enchantments while Harry took care of the tent, and they let Hermione have her moment. Draco briefly considered trying to console her once more, but Hermione moved into the tent as soon as Harry had set it up, clearly looking for privacy, so he opted against it. 

He went to sit on her bed an hour later when the sobs had waned slightly. Her eyes were still wet, puffy and red and she was staring into space, not acknowledging his presence.

“He’s not worth it,” Draco whispered. “You’re so much better than him. I always thought so.”

She gulped, then she muttered: “I know you want to help, Draco, but right now, I really don’t want to hear about how much you always thought Ron sucked.”

So Draco had dropped it, and they had stopped mentioning Weasley altogether, the three of them. Hermione was still crying when she thought none of them would hear. Harry was sober and silently fuming. Draco knew that he missed Weasley as much as he was angry at the way that he had left them. But there was nothing he could do to ease their pain, other than being there for them physically, so that’s what he did.

They started working on a plan to visit Godric’s Hollow as soon as they could convince Hermione of its merits - which, admittedly, took a couple of days, but with Draco’s calm rationalism, she was soon won over. They decided on visiting the village under the protection of a polyjuiced appearance - they would have used the invisibility cloak as well, but it had started snowing a while ago, so Draco suggested simple disillusionment charms would be the way to go, since their tracks would be visibly in the snow, anyway.

“Better to be seen but appear unremarkable than to be invisible but leave inexplicable tracks,” he remarked, and the others had agreed. 

They’d found hair for the potion in a muggle village up in a remote area of Scotland, an old married couple and their equally seasoned neighbour. They’d figured that no one would pay close attention to three elderly tourists. 

It was a cold evening a couple of weeks before Christmas when they apparated into Godric’s Hollow. A few Muggles were out on the streets, returning home from work, but they were too eager to reach the shelter of their home to pay them any mind - and even if they did, Draco was sure that their enchantments would make them look right through them. 

Harry was tense and alert from the moment their feet set upon the ground. His eyes were everywhere, as if determined to take in everything he could, afraid to miss even a detail, and could Draco really blame him? This was Harry’s connection to his parents. They had lived here, walked these streets throughout their numbered shared days. Draco’s hand found Harry’s, and the other boy’s fingers clung to his like a lifeline.

“There’s the church,” Hermione whispered, pointing down the road. “And a graveyard behind it... “ There was a moment of silence, before she continued: “They’ll be in there, won’t they? Your Mum and Dad?”

Harry just stared, obviously frozen at the prospect. Draco squeezed his hand and took the lead, stepping forward and pulling Harry along. Hermione followed without hesitation. Halfway across the square, though, she put a hand on Draco’s shoulder, halting them to point out the war memorial across from them.

“Look!” she hissed.

Draco blinked, seeing that what had originally been a mere obelisk carved with names of fallen soldiers had now transformed into a statue of a young family: A man with messy hair and glasses, seeming so strikingly familiar and yet so foreign that it made Draco’s chest hurt, next to a woman with long, smooth hair, lovingly holding a baby in her arms. The monument was covered in snow. 

Harry dropped Draco’s hand and stepped forward, staring at his parents' faces as if transfixed. Draco gulped, biting his lips and just looking at him, waiting in silence until Harry had looked his fill.  When he had, he turned back to them, giving them a small nod. “C’mon,” he said, and they headed for the church once more, and out towards the graveyard behind it. 

It was rather large for such a small village, but then again, Godric’s Hollow was ancient. Generations of Muggle and Wizarding families had lived and died here, and the gravestones would reflect the passing of the centuries. Harry moved towards one of the nearest graves, reading the inscription. 

“Look at this, it’s an Abbot, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah’s!”

“Keep your voice down!” Hermione muttered. 

“We should split up,” Draco suggested. “This will take us ages. Harry, you go down here, Hermione, you go left. I’ll start back down there and we’ll meet somewhere in the middle. Deal?”

The others nodded, and then they silently went to work, all of them making their way through the rows and rows of gravestones, searching for Harry’s parents. Draco found many a familiar wizarding name, and the pureblood in him was utterly fascinated by the history of the place, but he forced himself not to linger, to keep looking. 

After a while, Hermione called: “Harry, here!”

Both of them looked up. Harry was already hurrying over to Hermione, squeezing through the graves to make his way. 

“Is it -?” he started.

“No, but look!”

Frowning, Draco also made his way over to them until all three of them hovered over the gravestone Hermione indicated, reading the inscription. The name ‘Dumbledore’ jumped out, and Draco frowned as he read:  _ ‘Kendra Dumbledore, and her daughter Ariana. Where your treasure is, there will your heart also be.’ _

Draco's frown deepened and he threw a glance at Harry, who was still reading with a guarded expression. Hermione was watching him, as well. 

“Are you sure he never mentioned -” she muttered.

“No,” Harry cut her off, his tone unforgiving. Then: “Let’s keep looking.”

Draco nodded, already turning to make his way back to where he’d left off. 

By far the most noise throughout their search came from Hermione, despite her earlier admonitions. She once called out in false alarm and then, not long after, she called for Draco, asking him to have a look at something.

“What is it?” Draco asked, a tad bit impatient now.

“Have you ever seen this mark before?” she asked him, indicating to a sign carved into a particularly old gravestone. Draco frowned, taking a closer look at the triangle encompassing a circle crossed through by a straight line. 

“Yes,” Draco said. “I have.”

“Where?” Hermione said, eyes widening.

“At Bill and Fleur’s wedding,” Draco told her. “Luna’s father was wearing a necklace with this symbol and Viktor was… displeased. He said it was the sign Grindelwald used back in the day.”

“Grindelwald?” Hermione asked, looking stomped. “That’s… strange. It appears in the book Dumbledore left me.”

“Come again?” Draco blinked.

“I don’t think it’s part of the book,” Hermione amended. “I think it was added after. It’s on the page with The Tale Of The Three Brothers?”

Draco frowned. He was familiar with the story but had no clue what Grindelwald would have had to do with any of it. He turned back to the gravestone, trying to make out the name. 

“That’s Ig - Ignotus Peverell, right?” 

“Yes,” Hermione murmured. “I think so.”

“There are no Peverells left,” Draco said. “The name’s died out. Of course, there might be distant relatives with different surnames…”

“This grave is too old to have anything to do with Grindelwald,” Hermione pointed out. 

“You’re right,” Draco agreed. “The symbol must stand for something else, and Grindelwald just picked it up…” His eyes landed on Harry, though, and he deflated. “Let’s talk about this some other time,” he muttered. “Let’s focus on finding Lily and James.”

“Yes,” Hermione nodded, looking chastised. “You’re right. Sorry.”

They both returned to their respective rows, and it didn’t take much longer for Draco to become successful. He’d almost met Hermione in the middle now, and the Potters’ grave was located only a couple of rows from the Dumbledores’. Draco tried to not let himself think about that, or else the anger he already felt for their dead headmaster would take the upper hand.

Instead, he cleared his throat and called out, very softly: “Harry?”

Harry froze. It appeared that he could tell by the tone of his voice that Draco had found his parents and that this wasn’t a false alarm. He took a deep breath and made his way over to Draco’s side, his polyjuiced face very pale. 

The stone was made of white marble and was in relatively good shape. It was easy to read the inscription even without bending down. 

_ James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981 _

_ Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981 _

_ The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. _

Harry read the last words aloud, looking at him with wide eyes. “Isn’t that a Death Eater idea?” he asked, his voice high with panic. “Why is that there?”

“No, Harry,” Draco said quickly, reaching out to touch his cheek. It was slightly strange - he had never liked the sensation of touching Harry while they were under polyjuice, but Harry was Harry, and he needed his comfort more than ever. “The Dark Lord hijacked that idea and made it into one of immortality. The base of it was simply to… live on after death, though.”

“Living beyond death,” Hermione agreed, her voice soft. She had come up to Harry’s other side, and she was putting a gentle hand onto his arm to soothe him. “Living  _ on. _ ”

Harry stared, as if the words were not registering with him, and then, his eyes were filling with tears. Draco reached out immediately, putting his arms around him to keep Harry close, holding him as he cried. Hermione, too, pressed herself, against his side, and so they hovered in an awkward but determined group hug, trying their best to give Harry the comfort he needed. 

Eventually, Harry calmed down enough to shake them off. He rubbed at his eyes and Draco procured a tissue for him, which he took gratefully. Hermione conjured a wreath of flowers for Harry to put onto the grave. He lingered for only a moment, touching the headstone before straightening up. He took Draco’s hand, entwining their fingers, and then asked to leave.

They made their way out towards the streets again when Hermione suddenly pulled at Harry’s arm. “Harry, stop,” she whispered.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

“There’s someone there,” she muttered, nodding over to the shadowed boundaries of the graveyard, where they could only see bushes and trees and darkness. “Someone’s watching us. I can tell. There, over by the bushes.”

Draco frowned, trying to look closer, but he couldn’t make anyone out. Neither, it seemed, could Harry.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I saw something move, I could have sworn I did…” Hermione was biting her lip, looking frightened, and Draco wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her. She had been the one disliking the idea of coming here the most, after all. 

“We look like Muggles,” Harry murmured. 

“Muggles who’ve just been laying flowers on your parents’ grave! Harry, I’m sure there’s someone over there!”

Draco bit his lip. She was right that, if they had been watched, they had looked more than a little suspicious. They had also used their real names, which, in hindsight, seemed like a grave mistake. Draco still couldn’t see anyone, though, and Harry said, after a moment: “It was a cat. Or a bird. If it was a Death Eater, we’d be dead by now.”

“Also,” Draco said, frowning. “Remember, Bathilda Bagshot is out here somewhere, too. Not everyone watching is necessarily an enemy.”

“Right,” Harry nodded. “She might know where Dumbledore left the sword.”

Draco still doubted that part, but he did think that she might be a valuable source of information, so he did not bother contradicting him. Neither did Hermione, though she had her hand on her wand and she was very tense, glancing out into the darkness for any sign of movement.

They made it back towards the street and further down into the village. They kept their eyes open and Draco tried to glance at nameplates as inconspicuously as he could.

“How are we going to find Bathilda’s house?” Hermione asked, but Harry did not answer. Instead, he was staring further down the street, and Draco followed his gaze to find what looked like a burned ruin at the end of the street. 

Next thing he knew, Harry was speeding up his steps, and they needed to hurry to follow after him. It was very clearly the Potter’s cottage, or what was left of it: the plants in the garden had grown unhindered, leaving a thick green layer above the rubble and charred remains of what had once been Harry’s home. The house was still standing, though the upper storey had been blown apart by the force of backfired curse.

They stood, staring at the scene in front of them. 

“I wonder why nobody’s ever rebuilt it?” Hermione asked.

“Maybe you can’t rebuild it?” Harry suggested. “Maybe it’s like the injuries from Dark Magic and you can’t repair the damage?”

“Even if they could, I doubt they wanted to,” Draco frowned. “This is an important place for wizarding history. I think they left it on purpose, as a monument.”

And indeed, when Draco reached out to touch the gate, a sign rose up in front of them. It read:  _ ‘On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.’ _

And all around the inscription, visitors had added their own messages of hope and encouragement.  _ ‘Good luck, Harry, wherever you are!’  _ one read.  _ ‘If you read this, Harry, we’re all behind you!’  _ read another. 

“They shouldn’t have written on the sign!” Hermione admonished, but Harry was grinning, and the sight went through Draco like a ray of sunlight. 

“It’s brilliant,” he said. “I’m glad they did! I -”

But then, he broke off, because there was movement down the street. Someone was approaching them, the person heavily cloaked against the cold and their movements unsteady and wobbling. Draco realised who it was in the same moment that an inexplicable feeling of dread washed over him. He wondered at himself. They had come here, in part, for Bathilda Bagshot. So why was his heart now racing at the sight of her as if he was faced with the Dark Lord himself?

The old woman approached enough that they could make out her glassy eyes glistening in the street light. Then, she raised a gloved hand and beckoned them towards her. Harry looked at him and Hermione and nodded. Draco, without a sensible reason to decline, agreed and followed Harry’s lead. 

They followed the woman down the street towards a house with a garden almost as uncared for as the one surrounding the Potters’ former home. She led them down the path towards the front door and fumbled with the key.

“Are you Bathilda?” Harry asked.

She nodded, putting the key into the front door, opening it and stepping aside to let them enter. 

Draco almost gagged at the smell - it seemed like something was decaying within her home. He wondered if she was too old to take care of her household. Maybe there was garbage lying in every corner. 

She took off her shawl and let them into the sitting room. She was very lined with old age and her eyes were glassy and almost unseeing. Draco wondered if she had used magic to detect them. 

Hermione caught Harry’s wrist before they could follow her into the next room, hissing: “Harry, I’m not sure about this.” It made Draco pause. Did she, too, have this inexplicable feeling that something was very wrong about Bathilda Bagshot? Or was Hermione still being paranoid about the plan in general?

Harry, though, shrugged her worries off. “Look at the size of her,” he muttered. “I think we could overpower her if we had to. We’re three against one. 

There was a strange, hissing sound from the sitting room, making Hermione jump and Draco twitch. Harry, though, seemed unperturbed. “It’s okay,” he told Hermione reassuringly and entered the room. 

Hermione and Draco exchanged a wary look before following him. Harry had stepped in to help the old woman light candles about the dirty room, and looking around, Draco’s suspicions about decaying garbage hardened somewhat. He made a mental note not to touch anything nor to sit down. 

Bathilda was staring blankly at Hermione and Draco as Harry worked, and it made Draco’s hair stand on edge. 

“Why did you ask us to come here, Mrs - Miss - Bagshot?” Hermione asked finally, apparently unable to stand the silence any longer. “Was there something you wanted to tell us?”

Bathilda only continued to stare at Hermione, not answering. Then, she approached Harry. She looked at him, then jerked her head towards the hallway. 

“You want us to leave?” he blinked, staring as she repeated the gesture, pointing at herself, then at him, and finally, at the ceiling. “Oh, right… I think she wants me to go upstairs with her.”

“All right,” Hermione said, “let’s go.” But Draco stopped her with a hand on her elbow.

“She wants to talk to Harry alone,” he pointed out, with a feeling of dread. “She doesn’t want us around.”

“Why?” Hermione asked sharply. Bagshot just stared back at her, not forthcoming with an explanation.

“Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to me, and only to me?” Harry suggested. 

“Do you really think she knows who you are?” Hermione asked, exasperated.

“Oh, she knows,” Draco muttered, examining her blank face, only to have her look right back. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Hermione sighed, finally relenting. “Well, okay, then, but be quick, Harry.”

Harry nodded, turning back to Bathilda. “Lead the way,” he said. 

Draco watched as the old woman left the room, Harry in tow. They could hear their footsteps through the old house, and then, the door in the upper storey closed. Draco sighed, unable to hide his frustration.

“I hate this,” Hermione muttered. 

“Tell me about it,” Draco said. “I've been feeling on edge ever since she turned up.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” Hermione hissed.

“What was I supposed to say?!” Draco demanded. “‘Guys, I know I was all for this, but I changed my mind, this old lady gives me the creeps!’?”

“Yes!” Hermione hissed. “Because I agree, something isn’t right here! Why isn’t she talking, for one? If age has pulled such a number on her, I doubt Dumbledore would have entrusted anything valuable to her, even if it’s just information!”

Draco couldn’t help but agree. “You know what?” he muttered. “I’ll go up and check to make sure everything is alright. You search the house. Be ready to leave at the slightest notice. If things go to hell, we disapparate, meet at the church and then go somewhere new together. Deal?”

“Deal,” Hermione nodded. “Be careful.”

“I always am,” Draco smiled, and then he left the room to make his way to the stairs. He cast a silencing charm on them, making sure his footsteps wouldn’t be heard as he approached. Then, he climbed up, noiselessly approaching the door. He pointed his wand at the wood and whispered a spell, making it see-through, showing a messy bedroom behind it, Harry scrambling around, looking for something. 

“What is it?” he asked, looking at where she was pointing. 

She hissed something, and Harry went to search through the mess on the table she was indicating - the sound that had come from her mouth had not been words, though, yet, Harry had followed them without hesitation. 

_ Parseltongue,  _ Draco realised, his heart racing, and then, Bathilda seemed to be crumbling in on herself. Her body collapsed and from it rose an enormous snake. Harry had barely time to turn around, much less to defend himself.

Draco blasted the door open with a spell. By then, the snake was already lurching for Harry, so there was no time for another spell - he acted on instinct, throwing himself at Harry, meaning to push him out of the way and to roll them out of reach so they could strike against the snake together, but he wasn’t quick enough.

The pain was sharp and all-encompassing. For a moment, he thought the snake would snap his neck and finish him off right then and there. It was surely big enough. But Harry was throwing a curse at it and then it was blasted across the room, the teeth that had been lodged into the skin of Draco’s throat gone. 

“Draco!” Harry called, his voice brittle. “No - shit -”

Draco couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He was aware that the venom was spreading fast through his veins. Harry gathered him against his chest, and then, there was Hermione, calling out for them. 

He drifted off to the sound of Harry’s frantic heartbeat against his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm sorry? *goes and hides*  
> See you in two weeks! Please don't yell at me too much.


	11. Recoveries and Reconciliations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Here I am, back with the next chapter :) I won't keep you waiting, after the cliffhanger last time. Enjoy!

Draco floated to consciousness very slowly, as if he was underwater and laden with weights that kept him down. He could hear muffled voices somewhere in his vicinity, but he couldn’t focus on them, which made it impossible both to identify the speaker or make out what they were saying. It was only when he was able to pinpoint one of the voices as Harry’s that he became more aware.

He blinked his eyes open. It took a while for his sight to sharpen - everything seemed too bright and too soft all at once, and finally, it registered with him that he was settled on one of the beds inside their tent. 

Harry was nowhere inside his direct line of vision, but he could still hear him, talking in a low voice, so he tiredly turned his head to follow the sound. He found Harry sitting at the kitchen table with Weasley, their hands clasped around mugs of tea as they held a muttered conversation. It appeared that Draco had made some sort of noise as he’d moved, because Harry tensed the moment he got a proper look at him, turning to flick a glance into the direction of Draco’s bed. Then, his eyes widened, and he was on his feet in an instant, his cup of tea spilling over as he carelessly discarded it onto the table.

“Draco!” he said urgently, crossing the room to get to him and sitting on the edge of his bed, making the mattress dip. “You’re awake! Oh my god, are you alright? Say something, please!”

His hands were touching Draco’s face, stroking his hair from his eyes and caressing his skin, and Draco needed a moment to find words, and even longer to make his throat cooperate enough to push them out. “Thirsty,” he croaked.

“Of course,” Harry nodded, moving to get up, probably to get the water, but then someone was already handing it to him. Hermione, Draco realised. Weasley must have called her. Something was nagging at the back of Draco’s mind, but he was too fuzzy to pay any attention to it. Harry moved closer to him and perched him up a little, helping him drink. It took more of Draco’s energy than it should.

“Better?” Harry asked when he pulled the glass away. Draco nodded.

“He needs to eat, Harry,” Hermione said urgently. “He hasn’t had any nutrition in days.”

“Right,” Harry agreed, eyes not leaving Draco’s face. 

“I’ve got cereal bars,” Weasley offered. “They’re rich on nutrients, right?”

Hermione didn’t answer, her jaw set tight, but she held out her hand, palm up. Weasley dove for his backpack. 

“What happened?” Draco muttered, meeting Harry’s attentive expression once more. 

Harry’s fingers stilled for a second in their caresses before they continued gently stroking over his cheekbone. 

“We went to Godric’s Hollow,” he said simply. “You were hurt.”

Draco frowned, trying to remember. There were blurry images of a graveyard and finding Lily and James’ grave. And then, the ruin of their house, and Bathilda Bagshot approaching them. 

“She was the snake,” he breathed, his empty stomach lurching at the memory of the creature rising from Bathilda’s body. 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, green eyes blazing with pain as he regarded him. “I’m so sorry, Draco. It was a trap.”

“It’s not your fault,” Draco sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I wanted to go, too, remember?”

“Yes, but Hermione knew something wasn’t right about her,” Harry insisted. “I should have listened. I never learn, and you almost -”

Harry didn’t finish the sentence but he didn’t have to, his meaning clear. Draco wondered how close he’d actually come to giving his life for Harry this time around. Distantly, he thought he should feel more afraid at the thought. Harry clearly was. 

He opened his eyes again, regarding Harry’s haunted expression. “How long was I out?” he asked.

“Three days,” Hermione answered, making Draco glance back at her. She, too, looked exhausted and worried. “We tried to counteract the venom as soon as we’d gotten out of there, but the fangs had pierced your arteries and the venom had spread quickly. You’d also lost so much blood. It was a really close call, Draco.”

Draco blinked and nodded. He felt a little disconnected from the information. 

After a moment of silence, Harry nudged him a little, silently asking him to make room in the small bed. He then manhandled him enough so that Draco was sitting propped with his back against Harry’s chest, arms safely wrapped around his waist to keep him upright. It was a comfortable, cosy position, and when Harry gestured for Hermione to hand him the cereal bar, Draco accepted it without a fuss. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he knew that Hermione was right - he felt way too faint and needed nutrition as soon as possible. 

As Draco nibbled on his snack, Weasley suggested: “Hermione and I could drop by a Muggle town for food this afternoon, so Malfoy can have something proper for dinner.” When Hermione turned to glare at him, he flushed a deep scarlet and held up his hands defensively, quickly adding: “ _ You _ said he needed food! And I’m sure Harry wants to stay by his side, so I just thought -”

“Ugh, fine,” she groaned. “But that doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”

And with that, she turned on her heels and stormed out of the tent. It was then, that Draco realised that Weasley was not supposed to  _ be _ here. His eyes narrowed.

“When did  _ you _ get back?” he demanded, lowering his half-eaten cereal bar. If possible, Weasley flushed even brighter and looked at Harry for help. 

“Yesterday while you were out,” Harry explained in a soft voice. “He saved my life, Draco.”

“How come your life needed saving  _ again _ ?” Draco asked sharply. “I thought I almost died three days ago to do just that!”

Harry flinched, but explained in a calm voice: “I found Gryffindor’s sword. But it was on the bottom of a pond, and the Horcrux almost drowned me when I got to it. Ron dragged me out of the water. He also took care of the Horcrux.”

Draco glowered at his cereal bar, because really, what could he  _ say _ to that? Of course, Harry accepted him back with open arms after all of that. It was  _ Harry. _

“Listen, Malfoy,” Weasley said, biting his lip. “What I said, the day I left -”

“You can stuff it,” Draco cut him off, glaring at him. “I don’t want to hear it.” Weasley looked back at him helplessly, pleading, but Draco was not swayed. “Harry might forgive you just like that, because he always does, but I won’t,” he clarified. “So save it.”

“Ron,” Harry said, very softly. “Leave it, for now? This is not the moment.”

Weasley gulped and nodded. Then, he got to his feet and left the tent as well. Hermione would be pleased, Draco thought grimly. 

Harry tightened his arms around him, leaning his cheek against Draco’s. “Eat,” he whispered. 

Draco did, forcing the last of the cereal bar down his throat. When he had eaten up, Harry took the wrapping from him and dumped it onto the bedside table. He then shifted them back into a horizontal position, lying down with Draco and draping the cover’s over him. He had his arms still firmly wrapped around Draco, clearly unwilling to give an inch, and Draco let himself rest against Harry’s chest, closing his eyes again. 

“How can I still be so tired after sleeping for three days?” he lamented. 

Harry gulped and then leaned in to kiss the top of Draco’s head. “You don’t know how close it was,” Harry whispered, his voice a little unsteady. “For a while, I really thought -” he drew in a shaky breath, and his hold on Draco tightened to the point where it was almost painful. “What did I tell you about charging in recklessly to save me?” Harry demanded, though the tone of his voice was still gentle, in stark contrast to his reprimand. “You could have used your wand and put up a shield charm -”

“I didn’t think,” Draco muttered. “My mind blanked.”

“It always does,” Harry sighed. “You’re so smart, and then, you keep doing these stupid things. And then you wonder why I didn’t want to take you along.”

“You’re not going to start being all weird and cold again now, right?” Draco checked. His speech was slurring a little. He was so bloody tired. 

“No,” Harry promised, pressing his nose into Draco’s hair and inhaling. “I’m not. It’s just… Please, be more careful, Draco? Please. I beg you. I almost lost you, and I’m not sure I’d… survive that. So, take care of yourself. Not only of me but of yourself, too. Okay?”

Draco nodded. It was all that he was capable of. He was quickly drifting into unconsciousness, and even though he was trying to hold on, fully aware that this conversation was important, he couldn’t keep his eyes open, couldn’t keep his mind focused. 

He thought Harry was saying something more, but he was already falling asleep. 

When he woke the next time, Harry was still wrapped around him. It was dark in the tent apart from a single candle lit on the kitchen table, and Draco thought he saw Hermione sleeping in the bed across from theirs. That meant Weasley was probably outside, keeping watch. 

He shifted slightly, stretching gingerly, and it roused Harry, who jerked and tightened his arms around him, raising his head to blink down at him with unnatural alertness, belying his lingering concern.

“Draco?” he whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “Sorry. I wasn’t out for another three days, right?” 

“Only the rest of the day,” Harry assured him, moving to sit up and taking Draco with him. He went grudgingly. “You should eat. Hermione and Ron made soup earlier, and they left it under a stasis charm.”

Quietly, they made it towards the kitchen, where a pot of soup was indeed waiting on the stove. Harry helped Draco into a chair before he turned to pour Draco a bowl. 

Draco absentmindedly rubbed at his neck, frowning when he felt the new scar tissue across his skin. Harry halted in his movements as he watched Draco before setting the dish down in front of Draco, urging him to eat. 

The soup was rich with vegetables and chicken and Harry must have given them some instructions with the seasoning because it actually didn’t taste bad. He ate it silently, trying not to meet Harry’s eyes as the other watched him eat. When he was done, he took the plate from Draco and cleaned up.

“You’re not eating?” Draco asked quietly.

“Not very hungry,” Harry shrugged. 

Draco waited until Harry sat back down. Harry’s eyes flickered back to Draco’s throat, where he now knew the fresh scar would be visible. 

“Hey,” Draco whispered, reaching out to touch Harry’s cheek and catching his eyes. “I’m still here, right? No harm done.”

“It was like my worst nightmare come true, Draco,” he whispered, staring back at him with wide eyes. “There was blood everywhere, and you weren’t responding, and -” he gulped, shaking his head. His eyes were focused on a drop of wax sliding down the candlestick as he continued: “If you had died that night, it would have been my fault. Just like Sirius was my fault. And that’s exactly the thing I’ve been most afraid of. To lose you because of my own recklessness.”

“I thought it was  _ my _ recklessness that got me into that situation,” Draco reminded him, but Harry didn’t rise to the bait. He sighed and ran his thumb along Harry’s jaw, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble. “Harry, you can’t blame yourself for everything that goes wrong. If you hold yourself responsible for everything, you will collapse underneath the pressure.”

“But we both know I  _ have _ the responsibility for every decision we make,” Harry contradicted him, an edge to his voice.

“No, you don’t,” Draco argued. “We are all adults, and we can make our own choices. We chose to be here, and we choose to agree or disagree with you. We are a team, Harry. It’s a shared responsibility. Our mistakes are our own.”

Harry stared at him, shaking his head. “How come,” he muttered, sounding bewildered, “you seem to always know exactly what to say to put my mind a little more at ease, or to at least make sense of what’s going on with me, and at the same time, I never appear to have a clue what’s going on in your head?”

Draco blinked, staring at him, confused. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he frowned.

Harry sighed, shaking his head. He leaned in to kiss his forehead, lingering. “Nevermind,” he whispered. “Just… I never want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Draco told him, trying to reassure the other boy. Harry didn’t respond, simply holding onto him.

Draco recovered slowly over the course of the next week, with constant nourishment and sleep. Throughout his healing process, Harry treated him like he was something breakable, but Draco couldn’t really begrudge him the protectiveness - he knew very well that he had scared his boyfriend to the bones with his stunt, and the least he could do was indulge his need to fuss over him until he was back to full strength. 

Hermione and Draco both kept a stubborn grudge against Weasley, no matter how hard he tried to play nice with them. Harry advocated for him the best he could, but it became quickly clear that no matter what he said or did, Hermione and Draco continued to give their ginger addition the cold shoulder. 

“I’m telling you, I tried to return the moment I disapparated,” Weasley told Hermione desperately one afternoon. “But I ran right into a bunch of Snatchers and I only escaped because I was able to convince them that I was actually Stan Shunpike and -”

“No, I don’t want to hear it!” she snapped, digging an angry finger into his chest. “You shouldn’t have left in the first place. I don’t care about any stories you have, trying to justify the length of your absence. You  _ left. _ Nothing can make up for that.” And with that, she stormed out of the tent, and Draco was fiercely proud of her for not letting him lull her in. 

Weasley approached him, too, once he was fully recovered. It baffled Draco when he entered the tent, asking Harry for a word with Draco with an air of determination. Harry smiled at Weasley and left them without a comment, which clued Draco in that they had discussed this move beforehand. He tried not to feel played, glowering as Weasley took a seat across from him at the kitchen table.

“Malfoy,” he said, clearing his throat. “I owe you an apology, and I know you said you don’t want to hear it, but I really want to say it.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Brilliant,” he muttered. “So it’s like that. I need to indulge you so that you can feel better.”

Weasley frowned, and Draco was almost surprised to see that he looked troubled at Draco’s comment. “No,” he returned, shaking his head. “That’s not what I want. I want to fix this.”

“Why?” Draco challenged. “What is there to fix, Weasley? It’s not like we’ve ever been friends. Why bother?”

There was a moment of silence in which Weasley seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. It was strange, seeing the other boy actually consider his answer like that - he tended to just blurt out whatever came to his mind, or so it had always appeared to Draco. 

“Contrary to what you seem to be thinking, I don’t actually hate you, Malfoy,” he finally responded. “I care about what you think of me.” When Draco only snorted, he added: “I’m not joking. It’s the truth.”

“Excuse me if I find that a little hard to believe,” Draco snapped, “when you were always the first one to disregard me and my opinions.”

Weasley frowned, then he replied: “Well, you never listened to me, either. It was frustrating, okay?”

“Why should I have listened to you when you so clearly wanted to boot me out from day one?!” Draco demanded, raising his voice now. “I could see it from the way you looked at me the moment I stepped into your compartment.  _ ‘A Malfoy. Ew.’ _ And like that, you’d made up your mind.”

Weasley opened his mouth, as if to argue, and then he closed it again, hesitantly. Finally, he nodded, just once. “Okay,” he agreed. “That’s fair. I had a bit of a problem believing that your intentions were as pure as you painted them to be, at first. But can you blame me? Dad always came home ranting about your father, and we both know he was  _ right _ to do so, so how was I to know that you were any different?”

“You could have given me a chance!” Draco snapped. “Harry did.”

Weasley sighed. He looked tired, all of a sudden. “I could have,” he agreed. “But I was eleven, and I didn’t know any better.”

“Don’t put it down to being eleven and prejudiced,” Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re no better at seventeen.”

Weasley gulped, seeming to pick that statement apart in his mind. “Maybe not,” he shrugged. “But I want to be. I did a lot of thinking over the time I stayed at Bill’s, and… I want to be better, Malfoy. I was a git to Harry, and to Hermione, but especially to you, for a long time, and I want to change. Maybe you can give me a chance to do that?”

“Honestly?” Draco raised his eyebrows. “I’m so  _ tired _ of having to give you chances. You screw up and Harry and Hermione’ll forgive you and I’ll have to end up playing nice with you again or else I’ll be the big bad Slytherin. I’m tired of this. I don’t want to give you chances you don’t deserve anymore.”

At that, Weasley laughed, a little ruefully. “Okay, I have questions,” he said. “One, when has Harry  _ ever _ seen you as the big bad Slytherin? You can’t do wrong in his eyes, and you know it. It’s been the one thing that used to tick me off most about you. How you seemed to be untouchable to him. It took me until you two were together to understand that it was because he was in love with you, but even then, I resented you a little for it, to be honest.” Draco opened his mouth to cut in, but Weasley kept talking: “Two, when did you  _ ever _ give me a proper chance or forgive me when I acted like a git? You’d always hold the grudges even after Harry and Hermione had forgiven me and you would always let me feel how - how inadequate I was! It drove me bloody insane, okay?”

“So, you can’t deal with someone actually confronting you with your bullshit,” Draco smiled.

“Maybe,” Weasley allowed. “Or maybe I’m human and I make mistakes and I wished that just once, you wouldn’t keep tap of every misstep I’ve made in the past seven years.”

“So, it’s my fault that we don’t get along?” Draco demanded. “That’s what you’re saying?”

“No!” Weasley groaned, looking frustrated again. “I just want you to - to understand why I’ve been such a git, okay? Yes, I was out of line, but it wasn’t always easy for me, with you around! You were this picture-perfect friend! Harry absolutely worshipped you and would have killed everyone who harmed you, Hermione loved you and spent all this time talking and studying with you, you were smart, funny, good at Quidditch, rich -”

“Excuse me,” Draco interrupted him, blinking, feeling quite out of his depths. “Are you trying to tell me that you were… actually jealous?”

“Of course I was jealous!” Weasley called. “I mean, look at you! You just kept showing me all the ways I wasn’t good enough!”

Draco gaped at him, unsure how he had slipped into this bizarre conversation. “Weasley,” he said, in a voice that clearly indicated that he thought he was talking to an insane person. “You were down that lake in fourth year as Harry’s most important person. Hermione has been madly in love with you for years, let’s not kid ourselves. We all know you’ve been both dancing around it since at least sixth year, and if you hadn’t pulled that stupid stunt with Lavender Brown, it would have long since happened. You have a family that isn’t actually famous for their recent criminal history, and they have basically adopted both of them.  _ How _ can you be jealous of me?”

Weasley had flushed a deep scarlet and was looking at Draco strangely now. “Everyone seemed to always love you better,” Weasley muttered, a little helplessly. “Even my sister, or Fred and George.”

“Merlin, you’re  _ paranoid! _ ” Draco pointed out. “If anything, it was me who was always on the outside - the lone Slytherin, the summers stuck at the Manor -”

“You might have felt that way,” Weasley shook his head, “but you were always  _ there _ , even when you weren’t.” He frowned, then he murmured: “I’m beginning to think we might have disliked each other for exactly the same reasons, and isn’t that disturbing?”

“I disliked you because you were an insensitive git,” Draco clarified. “Not because I might or might not have felt on the outside to your merry group of Gryffindors.”

Weasley took a deep breath and nodded, accepting Draco’s words as they were. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll work on that. No more outbreaks of The Git. I’ll be good.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Draco snorted. 

“Okay,” Weasley returned, almost cheeky now, and he quirked a tentative smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

And one had to give it to him, Weasley tried. It was a complete change from the boy that had left them in autumn - he was now optimistic to a fault, trying his best to motivate them and be helpful wherever he could. Gone were the days of lazing around and barking out moody commands - now, he did most tasks himself, without complaint, and cheered them on for everything they had to discuss as a team. 

The mysterious appearance of Gryffindor’s sword while Draco had been out cold, accompanied by a doe Patronus, gave their minds new munition for speculation: Obviously, someone had aided them in their quest for the sword. But who?

“Snape’s Patronus is a doe,” Draco told them quietly, one afternoon as they discussed it, causing everyone to look at him with wide eyes. “I saw him cast it once.” It had been in fifth year when he had been stuck in Snape’s office and Snape had tried to contact Dumbledore and half the order all night. 

“That’s right,” Hermione whispered, blinking. “We saw Kingsley talk to it, the night Nott led the Death Eaters into the castle!”

“But… it can’t be Snape!” Harry protested, shaking his head. “Snape killed Dumbledore! He’s a Death Eater!”

“But maybe Dumbledore’s not dead!” Weasley said, excited to bring out his old theory again. “Maybe -”

“He’s dead, Ron,” Hermione cut him off impatiently.

“It might be a coincidence,” Draco allowed, biting his lip. “It might be someone else’s doe Patronus.”

“But it’s a big coincidence,” Hermione frowned. “Especially considering that Snape was supposed to have the sword in the first place.”

“But his sword is a fake, remember?” Weasley interjected.

“The one he handed to the goblins at Gringotts is,” Hermione corrected him. “He could have kept the real one to give it to us when the time was right.”

“But it makes no sense!” Harry called. “He’s working for Vol-”

“Don’t say that name!” Weasley cut in, eyes wide. “Don’t you know about the ban?!”

“What ban?” Harry asked, sounding irritated. 

“They put a tracking spell on the name,” Weasley explained. “Every time someone says You-Know-Who’s real name, all protection spells are disabled and Snatchers will get notified so they can apparate to that location immediately. They nearly got Kingsley like that. He’s on the run now.” He stared into their baffled faces. “I thought you’d figured it out,” he said, his voice quiet. “Since you didn’t get caught.”

“We sort of slipped into the habit of not mentioning his name, thanks to you,” Harry muttered, blinking. “I guess that was lucky.”

“I’d say so,” Weasley nodded. “Keep at it. We don’t want to have a run-in with the Snatcher, alright? They might be stupid, but still.”

Maybe, Draco figured, Weasley was half-useful to have around, after all. Not that he’d ever be caught saying it out loud. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an answer to a concern a lot of you addressed in the comments: Snape didn't survive the attack because there was no one there to stop it in time. Nagini latched on to kill. In Draco's case, Harry was there to intervene, and then Hermione got them out of there in time to help Draco. If they hadn't, he would have surely died, you are right, but since they were so quick to react, his life could be saved. 
> 
> As you probably noticed, Harry's wand came through unscathed, since he used it to save Draco.


	12. The Peverell Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Here I am, back with the next chapter! Not much to say this time, so I'll just send you off your way to read! Enjoy :)

Hermione informed them one morning, quite unceremoniously, that she wanted to go talk to Xenophilius Lovegood. 

“I want to ask him about the symbol he was wearing around his neck at Bill and Fleur’s wedding,” she told them with an air of determination. “Dumbledore scratched it into the book and I saw him use it as part of his correspondence with Grindelwald -”

“Excuse me?” Weasley choked out, but she ignored him.

“- and then, Draco and I found it on a headstone in that graveyard at Godric’s Hollow. It keeps popping up and I need to know what it means.”

Draco frowned, having almost forgotten about their conversation in the graveyard. “You mean, that’s what Dumbledore wanted you to figure out?” Draco asked. “That sign?”

“Don’t you think it’s possible?” Hermione asked. “Why else would he leave me a book of fairy tales?” 

Draco chewed his lip, nodding. “Why, indeed,” he murmured. 

“Are we sure that he really meant anything by it?” Harry muttered, his tone sour. “I mean, we keep trying to convince ourselves that Dumbledore left us secret signs and clues, but -”

“The illuminator turned out to be pretty useful,” Weasley popped in. “I wouldn’t have found my way back to you without it, after all. I think Hermione’s right, I think we ought to go and see Lovegood.” Harry glared at him, and Draco suppressed a humourless smile. It was obvious that Weasley’s support for Hermione’s idea was mainly fueled by his desire to make her forgive him. “It won’t be like Godric’s Hollow,” Weasley added hastily when he saw Harry’s face. “Lovegood’s on your side, Harry,  _ The Quibbler’ _ s been for you all along, it keeps telling everyone they’ve got to help you.”

“I hate to agree with the Weasel,” Draco sighed. “But we need to do  _ something _ , and as we currently have no idea as to where the next Horcrux is, this is as good as anything. We need to follow any clue we have. Lovegood seems like we might be able to trust him, but even if things get out of hand, the four of us should hopefully be able to overpower him and flee.”

“Exactly!” Weasley nodded eagerly. “That makes three against one. You’re outvoted, Harry. Sorry.”

Harry glowered at him fiercely, but Hermione reached out for his hand to appease him. 

“I really think this is important, Harry,” she said softly. “A symbol that links Dumbledore, Grindelwald and Godric’s Hollow? I’m sure we ought to know about this!”

“Fine,” Harry relented. “Where do the Lovegoods live? Not far from the Burrow, right?”

“Yeah, not far from my place at all,” Weasley agreed. “I dunno exactly where, but Mum and Dad always point towards the hills whenever they mention them. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

He turned out to be right. When they apparated into the area the next morning, it didn’t take them all too long to find the strangely shaped, black house that seemed so different from the usual architecture that it could only belong to the Lovegoods. As they walked up to the front door, they came across plants of all forms, sizes and colours as well as signs on the yard such as  _ “Keep Off the Dirigible Plums!”  _ or  _ “Pick Your Own Mistletoe”.  _ Draco had to smile at the sheer vibe of  _ Luna _ the place exuded. 

Harry was the one to knock, and only moments later, the door opened to reveal a truly dishevelled-looking Xenophilius Lovegood: dressed in nothing but a dirty nightshirt, hair filthy and unkempt. Draco called upon all his manners not to turn his nose up at his appearance.

“What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?” he barked out, sounding near-hysterical, and Draco couldn’t help but shake his hand out so his wand landed in his palm, ready to use, though he kept it shielded from sight. Then, Lovegood’s eyes fell onto Harry, and he froze, gaping at him with an expression of true shock.

“Hello, Mr Lovegood,” Harry said, holding out his hand. “I’m Harry, Harry Potter.” The other man did not take his hand to shake it. Draco felt very uneasy. “Would it be okay if we came in?” Harry pushed on, very bravely, Draco felt. “There’s something we’d like to ask you.”

“I… I’m not sure that’s advisable,” Lovegood whispered, and Draco’s heart fell. Something was wrong, he knew it, deep down in his bones. He wanted to tell the others that they needed to retreat, but when he tried to catch Hermione’s eyes, she was not looking in his direction. Harry was discussing with Lovegood, trying to convince him to let them in, and Draco was just about to open his mouth to tell them that they should leave when Lovegood burst out: “Oh, all right then. Come in, quickly!  _ Quickly!” _

They were ushered inside, and Draco lingered in the doorway, wary. Lovegood glowered at him. “Come on, boy!” he hissed. Finally, Draco sighed and stepped inside, following the others. 

As soon as Lovegood had swung the door shut behind them, Draco turned on him, asking, almost breathlessly: “Where is Luna?” He knew Luna was bound to be home. It was the Easter holidays, after all, and it was unlikely she was going to stay at Hogwarts under the current climate. He’d feel much better once he saw Luna, he decided. 

Lovegood turned, looking at him with sharp, blue eyes. “She is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She… she will like to see you. I’ll… I’ll go and call her, if you’d wait here for a moment?”

And with that, he opened the door once more and slipped out of it again, disappearing back out again. Draco turned to look at the others, deeply disconcerted.

“Something is wrong,” he said.

“What makes you say that?” Hermione frowned.

“The way he’s acting,” Draco shook his head. “A man who’s on our side doesn’t behave like that.”

“The Lovegoods have always been strange,” Weasley shrugged. “Though I have to agree, Luna has three times the guts he has.”

“I’m telling you, something is wrong,” Draco shook his head. “We should leave. Now.”

“But we haven’t got any information yet,” Hermione muttered, looking crestfallen. 

“Who cares?” Draco snapped. “We’ll get it elsewhere! We need to leave before he rats us out and -”

But at that moment, the door opened again and Lovegood returned, cutting off Draco’s rant. He bit back a curse, and Harry met his eyes, looking worried.

“Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here,” Lovegood announced. “She ought not be long, she has caught nearly enough Plimpies to make a soup for all of us. May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots while we wait?”

And with that, he strode into the kitchen, setting up water to make some sort of foul-smelling tea. They waited as he worked, silent and tense, and when he was done, he levitated the cups towards them and led them upstairs towards what seemed to be some sort of study. In the back, a magical press was printing the newest edition of  _ The Quibbler.  _

“We make it ourselves,” Lovegood said conversationally as he gestured for them to take a seat on a three-piece suite that Draco guessed he kept for interviews and handed them the tea. “Help yourselves to some sugar.”

“Mr Lovegood,” Hermione said, rather sharply. “What’s that?”

Draco looked up and saw that she was pointing at an enormous horn that was magically attached to the wall opposite of them, like a hunting trophy, and Draco, too, froze as he looked at it more closely. 

“It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack,” Lovegood said, with an air of pride.

“No, it’s not,” Hermione shook her head, eyes wide. 

“Hermione,” Harry hissed, sounding embarrassed. “Now’s not the time -”

“She’s right, Harry,” Draco interrupted him. “That’s an Erumpent horn and it can go off if you so much as blow on it too hard.”

That made Harry freeze. Lovegood, though, seemed offended at his words. 

“The Crumple-Horned Snorkack,” he began, glaring him down, “is a shy and highly magical creature, and it’s horn -”

“Be that as it may,” Draco interrupted him. “This  _ is _ an Erumpent horn, and it  _ will _ blow up your house if you don’t have it removed, so I’m very sorry if you consider this rude, but I’m casting a protection spell right now.”

And with that, he pointed his wand into the direction of the wall and muttered under his breath until a wall of protective magic appeared between the horn and the place they were sitting, just enough to shield them from the impact should it indeed explode. Hermione sent him a grateful smile. Lovegood glared at him, looking indeed offended, but Draco didn’t give a damn.

“Mr Lovegood,” Harry spoke up, effectively distracting the man from the insult that Draco had so unabashedly dealt out. “We’d like to ask you about the symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. We wondered what it meant.”

Lovegood blinked and raised his eyebrows.

“Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?” he asked. 

Harry turned to them, clearly checking if any of them had ever heard of the term, but Draco was, for once, just as clueless as everyone else in the room. It was slightly disconcerting.

“The Deathly Hallows?” Harry repeated.

“That’s right,” Lovegood nodded. “You haven’t heard of them? I’m not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. The symbol is used to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest.”

“The Quest?” Draco asked, stomped. “What Quest?”

“Well, to seek the Deathly Hallows, of course,” Lovegood shrugged. 

“But what  _ are _ the Deathly Hallows?” Hermione cut in.

Lovegood looked at her for a long moment. “I assume you are familiar with ‘The Tale of The Three Brothers’?” he asked eventually.

All but Harry said yes, which caused Lovegood to insist that they read the story out loud first, so they all knew what they were talking about. Hermione proceeded to pull out her version of  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _ and read the story to them. Draco’s mind faded in and out of the story of the three brothers who evaded death only to be gifted three magical objects as a reward. He kept wondering where Luna was. She was taking an awfully long time, if she was really out there. Was this all a trap, after all? If so, they should get out of here as soon as possible. 

When Hermione finally came to an end, Lovegood said, as if the answer was very obvious: “Well, there you are.”

“Sorry?” Hermione asked, clearly confused. Draco couldn’t begrudge her the sentiment.

“Those are the Deathly Hallows.” Picking up a torn piece of parchment from between books and a quill, he started to draw - first a straight line - “The Elder Wand,” he explained - then a circle on top - “The Resurrection Stone,” - and eventually, he enclosed both with a triangle. “The Cloak of Invisibility,” he finished. “Together, the Deathly Hallows.”

It was indeed the symbol they had been looking for, and Draco gaped. 

“But there’s no mention of the words ‘Deathly Hallows’ in the story,” Hermione pointed out.

“Well, of course not,” Lovegood grinned, obviously enjoying himself now. “That is a children’s tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognise that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor Master of Death.”

“Master of - so you’re saying these objects actually exist?” Draco blinked. 

“Of course they exist,” Lovegood said, very calmly. 

“But -” Hermione spluttered, sounding distressed. “Mr Lovegood, how can you  _ possibly _ believe -”

“Luna has told me about you, young lady,” Lovegood interrupted her. “You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded.” 

Hermione looked like she’d been slapped. Draco quickly intervened, asking: “Is there any proof that they exist?”

“There is endless of evidence regarding the Elder Wand's existence,” Lovegood told him pleasantly. “It can be easily traced through history, since it passes from hand to hand. Surely you, as a descendent of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, know enough about wizarding history to realise that I’m right? You must have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelic died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Barnabas Deverill, whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of wizarding history.”

And Draco gaped because for once, Lovegood actually made sense. There had been tales of wands more powerful than others who had caused these historic killings, called “Death Sticks”, amongst other names. 

“All right,” Hermione injected, sounding disconcerted. “But what about the stone? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?”

“What of it?” Lovegood asked.

“Well, how can that be real?”

“Prove that it is not,” Lovegood shrugged, and Hermione spluttered. 

“But that’s - I’m sorry, but that’s completely ridiculous! How can I  _ possibly _ prove it doesn’t exist? Do you expect me to get hold of - of all the pebbles in the world, and test them? I mean, you could claim that  _ anything _ ’s real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody  _ proved _ it doesn’t exist!”

“Yes, you could,” Lovegood smiled, looking quite smug now. “I am glad to see you are opening your mind a little.”

“So, the Cloak,” Harry cut in, clearly trying to deescalate the situation, “we know Invisibility Cloaks exist, obviously.”

“Ah, but the Third Hallow is a  _ true _ cloak of invisibility, Mr Potter! I mean to say, it is not a travelling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endured eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like  _ that _ , Mr Potter?”

_ One,  _ Draco’s mind supplied. Only one, and it was currently in the room with them. Draco felt cold and then hot again. Harry caught his eyes and they held each other’s gaze for a long moment. 

There was a long pause, and then, Hermione asked, quite suddenly: “Mr Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?”

Lovegood looked delighted at the question. “But you have been misleading me, young woman!” he called. “I thought you were new to the quest! Many of us Questers believe that the Peverells have everything -  _ everything -  _ to do with the Hallows!”

“Who are the Peverells?” Weasley asked.

“That was the name on the grave with the mark on it, in Godric’s Hollow,” Hermione shrugged. “Ignotus Peverell.”

“Exactly!” Lovegood called excitedly. “The sign of the Deathly Hallows on Ignotus’ grave is conclusive prove!”

“Of what?” Draco demanded.

“Why, that the three brothers in the story were actually the three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus! That they were the three original owners of the Hallows!” Lovegood glanced at the window and then got to his feet, quite abruptly. “You will stay for dinner?” he asked, not waiting for a response as he already moved to return downstairs. “Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimpy Soup.”

“Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St Mungo’s,” Weasley muttered as soon as Lovegood was out of earshot, but Draco got up, nervous now. 

“We should leave,” he announced. “We got what we came for, and I have a bad feeling. Something isn’t right.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, looking alert.

“Isn’t Luna taking an awfully long time?” Draco pointed out, watching as her face fell. Harry’s jaw set in realisation. “This is a trap, I’m telling you. We have to go.”

“But if Luna is not here, where is she?” Harry asked. 

“I don’t know!” Draco groaned, a little desperate now. “With some luck, she’s at Hogwarts with everyone else!”

“Or she’s in danger,” Harry pointed out. 

“Even if she were, I don’t think she’d approve of her father trying to sell us out to save her!” Draco moaned. “We should not play into his hands!”

“But what will happen to Luna if we just take off?” Hermione asked, looking distressed. “Will they hurt her?”

Draco cursed. Stupid, impossible  _ Gryffindors.  _

“Malfoy is right,” Weasley said, much to Draco’s surprise. “We can’t let ourselves get caught to save Luna.”

“But we can’t just disappear, either!” Harry argued. “They might punish Luna because her father called them in vain, or because he let us escape!”

“So, we’ll leave a track!” Draco snapped. “Make sure they knew we were here!” And then, his eyes fell on the Erumpent horn, and his mind reeled. 

Hermione followed his gaze. “No!” she gasped. Draco just looked at her. “You’re insane!” she hissed. It will blow up the whole house!”

“Exactly!” Draco nodded. “We can disapparate, and they’ll know for sure someone was here.”

“But it might have been someone else, or he might have set off the horn by himself -” Hermione argued.

“I’m not sticking around until the Death Eaters arrive!” Draco snapped. “I’m not taking that risk. We’re leaving now!”

“I hate this,” Harry whispered.

“You don’t have to like it,” Draco shrugged, getting out his wand and pointing it at the horn. “I’m going to do it, anyway.”

“Wait,” Hermione said. She reached out for Harry and took off his glasses. He blinked, temporarily blinded as Hermione cast a duplication charm on them. Then, she gave the real ones back to him and dropped the fake ones on the floor. “Like this, they’ll know you were here,” she shrugged. “It’s evidence enough.”

“Good,” Draco nodded, satisfied. “Now, hold onto me. Hermione, I’ll cast the spell, and you’ll apparate us out of here as soon as I’m done.”

“Okay,” she nodded. 

Draco made sure that everyone was in some way touching and connected before focusing on the Erumpent horn. He removed the protection spells he had cast earlier and counted to three before casting a well-aimed blasting spell at it.

The effect was immediate - Draco could feel the pressure moving outwards, the beginning of an explosion just before they disappeared, landing in the middle of a field. 

Hermione began casting spells immediately, and Draco hurried to help her.

“I can’t believe we just blew up Luna’s house,” Harry muttered, sounding horrified.

“He wanted to hand us over to You-Know-Who, mate,” Weasley reminded him. “I think it was justified.”

“But what if he didn’t?” Harry argued. “What if we acted rashly?”

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled his necklace over his head, thrusting it at Harry. “Here,” he snapped. “Check up on him. See if any Death Eaters arrive at the scene.”

Harry frowned at him but he took the necklace from him. There was silence from Harry for a couple of minutes and then, when he finally spoke again, his face was dark.

“You were right,” he muttered. “He was going to sell us out. They kidnapped Luna off the Hogwarts Express, as far as I could gather. I checked on her, she’s in some dungeon with Ollivander.”

Draco felt sick at the news. He finished setting up the tent and then sat on the ground, heart heavy.

“I wished we could do anything to help her,” he told him, quite earnestly. “But wherever they are keeping her, it will be heavily guarded. We can’t risk getting caught.”

“I know,” Harry sighed, sitting next to him and handing him the necklace back. “Believe me, I learned my lesson when I almost lost you at Godric’s Hollow. I wished we could help Luna, but it’s going to be almost impossible to get to her. Also…” he hesitated, and then he pressed on, “I have a suspicion where they are, and I’m  _ not _ taking you there.”

“Where?” Draco frowned.

“Malfoy Manor,” Harry muttered. “Some of the visions my scar showed me… I saw your father.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. He nodded. Harry reached out to touch his hand, entwining their fingers. 

“Luna is strong,” Harry reminded him. “She’ll probably be talking Ollivander’s ear off about Wrackspurts and Nargles as we speak.” 

That made Draco smile, if only a little. 

“I’m so sorry I convinced you to go there,” Hermione moaned, idly working on setting up a fire. “Harry, you were right, it was Godric’s Hollow all over again, a complete waste of time! The Deathly Hallows… such rubbish… although actually,” she blinked, “he might have made it all up, mightn’t he?”

“Hermione,” Draco frowned. “I don’t believe he was lying, nor…”

“What?” she asked, an edge to his voice.

“Well,” Draco said, very slowly. “Tales like these tend to have a base in history. What if it is indeed true?”

“Not you, too!” she called. “Draco, you’re intelligent, for God’s sake!”

“Exactly!” Draco deadpanned. “I studied Wizarding History and Alchemy and I can’t deny the facts, Hermione. There were a lot of people who, let's say, experimented with magical objects and substances with the aims to create something just like the Resurrection Stone, for example. Wands like Lovegood described are indeed well documented through wizarding history, and who’s to say it wasn’t one and the same? And the cloak… we always took Harry’s cloak for granted, but have you  _ ever _ seen a cloak like it?”

“He’s right, you know,” Weasley said meaningfully. “Cloaks like Harry’s don’t  _ exist. _ It’s perfect, it never failed us, and he got it from his Dad, too, which means it’s ancient! It should have long stopped working!”

“It’s just a story!” Hermione called, sounding despaired. “A story about how humans are frightened of death. If surviving was as simple as hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, we’d have everything we need already!”

“The story is just a tale, I agree,” Draco amended. “But that can’t mean it wasn’t inspired by facts. What if the Peverell brothers indeed created these three powerful objects, and Beedle the Bard wrote it into a story?”

“Then the whole legend of them being Death’s own gifts would be make-believe! You won’t become Master of Death by owning them!”

“No,” Draco nodded. “You won’t. But still, they might exist. That’s all I’m saying.”

“But there wouldn’t be anything special about them!” Hermione argued fiercely. “It would just be three objects the Peverell brothers created!”

“Three incredibly powerful magical objects,” Draco reminded her. 

“Marvolo Gaunt,” Harry breathed, interrupting their fight to make everyone look at him. 

“Pardon?” Draco frowned.

“Marvolo Gaunt!” Harry repeated, sounding excited now. “You-Know-Who’s grandfather! In the Pensieve! With Dumbledore! Marvolo Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!”

“Which means the Dark Lord is, too,” Draco muttered, catching up. “Shit.”

“The ring,” Harry continued. “The ring that became a Horcrux, Marvolo Gaunt said it had the Peverell coat of arms on it! I saw him waving it in the bloke from the Ministry’s face, he nearly shoved it up his nose!”

“The coat of - it must have been the symbol of the Hallows,” Draco muttered, blinking. “You think it might have been -”

“Why not?” Harry called, clearly excited. “Marvolo Gaunt was an ignorant old git who lived like a pig, all he cared about was his ancestry. If that ring had been passed down through the centuries, he might not have known what it really was. There were no books in that house, and trust me, he wasn’t the type to read fairy tales to his kids. He’d have loved to think the scratches on the stone we a coat of arms, because as far as he was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal.”

“But where would Dumbledore have put it, after - the Snitch!” Draco whispered, eyes wide. “ _ ‘I open at the close’ _ \- he left it in there for you to find when you need it the most!”

“Draco!” Hermione admonished, sounding scandalised. “You can’t honestly think -”

“Hermione, it all fits together!” Draco insisted. “What else would be in that Snitch? Why else would he have left you that book! That’s what Dumbledore wanted us to figure out!”

“So that means it’s all true, and we have two Hallows now?” Weasley asked, wide-eyed. “What about the wand?”

“Ron -” Hermione began.

“Think about it, Hermione!” Weasley said. “An unbeatable wand!”

“That’s what he’s after,” Harry muttered, face falling as he gazed into the distance. “That’s why he was looking for Gregorowitch! He is searching for the wand!” 

“That… makes sense,” Draco frowned. “It’s the only Hallow he’d actually have any practical use for. Especially since the connection between your wands has been such a disadvantage to him.”

“Right,” Harry nodded, meeting his eyes. “So what do we do?”

Draco bit his lip, turning the new information over and over in his mind. He could feel Hermione’s eyes on him. Finally, he answered: “Nothing, for now.”

“Nothing?!” Harry asked, incredulous.

“Harry, even if you had the wand, you wouldn’t be able to kill the Dark Lord unless we got rid of all the Horcruxes beforehand,” Draco reminded him. “So that needs to be our priority. Not to mention that, while the Dark Lord is searching, he is distracted. That is a good thing. It gives us time.”

“But what if he finds it?” Weasley asked, looking appalled. 

“It’s still just a wand,” Draco shrugged. “It might be powerful, but  _ nothing _ is unbeatable.” When both Harry and Weasley just looked at him, doubtful, he continued: “It’s wizard-made, remember? It’s not been handed out by Death itself. It can be fought.”

“I still think we should try to stop him from getting it if we can,” Weasley muttered. 

“Draco is right,” Hermione backed him up. “Dumbledore wanted us to destroy the Horcruxes. We should stick to that.”

“I think it was important to him that we had all the information we needed,” Draco frowned. “Though his way of ensuring that was twisted, mind you. But I don’t think he’d have wanted us to chase after a wizard-made myth and forget what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“Exactly,” Hermione nodded, seeming relieved. She got to her feet. “I’m setting up the kettle. Who wants some tea?”

Weasley followed her inside, throwing a reluctant look at Harry over his shoulder before disappearing out of sight. Draco moved closer to him, enough so that their thighs touched. 

“This is the right path, Harry,” Draco muttered. “Please, trust me.”

“I do,” Harry sighed. “I just hate the thought of him getting his hands on that wand.”

“Maybe we can still prevent it,” Draco shrugged. “We’ll have to wait and see.” Harry nodded, not answering. After a moment, Draco murmured: “You are aware, of course, that you’re a descendant of the third brother, should our theory prove correct?”

Harry blinked at him. “You’re right,” Hary mused. “I guess I am.”

“If only my father knew,” Draco snorted. “My boyfriend is a Peverell. He’d be so proud.”

Harry chuckled and elbowed him. Draco elbowed him right back.


	13. Return Trip to the Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! 
> 
> ... What can I say? I apologise in advance.

Their discovery of the Deathly Hallows and all its implications continued to be the main topic between them for a long while. Harry was visibly frustrated not to be pursuing the Hallows any further, though he did not push the subject anymore since he knew that Draco did not share his view on the matter. 

“I don’t think the Dark Lord even realises the wand he’s looking for is part of a set, Harry,” Draco told him the next morning, in an attempt to soothe him. “I mean, he turned the ring into a Horcrux. He didn’t recognise the stone as an object of importance.”

“Maybe he did, and it just brought him pleasure to use it for such a purpose?” Harry argued.

“No,” Draco shook his head. “If he’d known about the existence of the Hallows back then, he’d have set out to find them way earlier.”

“That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t know about them now.”

“He’d have made the connection to the stone if he had,” Draco pointed out. “He’d have gone looking for the ring, and he’d have found it missing. He would already be aware that we’re after his Horcruxes.”

Harry was silent then, apparently having nothing to return that would invalidate Draco’s logic, as much as that realisation annoyed him. 

“I know you want some kind of shortcut, Harry,” Draco sighed. “You’re fed up with this seemingly endless hunt for elusive objects. So are we. But I really don’t think going after the Hallows is the smart choice here. Even if we did get the wand, we’d still have to destroy the Horcruxes. It would not make a difference. It’s not a shortcut, really - it’s a detour.”

“Then why did Dumbledore not tell me all of this?” Harry challenged. “Why did he send us on this wild goose chase to find the information, only to not act on it? If he wanted us to  _ not _ act, he could have just told me everything when he was alive and properly warned me!”

Draco bit his lip, choosing his words carefully before he voiced his suspicions. 

“I think Dumbledore might have been afraid that the temptation would overwhelm you, and distract you from your actual mission,” Draco muttered.

“What?!” Harry called, quite predictably. “You mean he didn’t trust me?!”

“I think he might have his own corpses in the dungeons, and they have to do with the Hallows,” Draco rolled his eyes. He looked up to meet his gaze. “Remember Skeeter’s book?”

“I thought you said not to trust a word she writes!” Harry accused.

“I don’t,” Draco said quickly. “But she added sources. Letters to Grindelwald from when he was younger.” Harry fell silent, staring at him with an expression of distant horror on his face. “He signed his name with the Deathly Hallows symbol, and the way he wrote to him… I think he might have been infatuated with some fantasy involving the two of them and the Hallows. I’m sure he was ashamed of it later, considering what Grindelwald turned out to be. He did end up facing off against him, in the end, but sources say it took an awfully long time for Dumbledore to get involved, and well… that would explain it, right?”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Harry said. “Apart from Dumbledore being friends with a mass murderer when he was younger, and we already established how I feel about that.”

“What I’m saying is that Dumbledore knew first-hand what it’s like to be seduced by the idea of power,” Draco pointed out. “Maybe he was afraid you wouldn’t be able to resist, no matter how good you are.”

Harry frowned, glancing away. He still seemed displeased with that explanation, but he did not argue or ask Draco to explain further. 

And so they kept changing their location daily, falling back into their routine from before visiting Xenophilius Lovegood, or from before Godric’s Hollow, even - with the addition of Weasley’s cheerful chatter, naturally, and his tireless attempts of fiddling with the wireless he had brought along from his long absence.

“What are you even doing with that?” Draco had snapped at him once, exasperated.

“I’m trying to tune into this programme, the only one that tells you the truth about what’s going on,” he had explained. “It’s called  _ Potterwatch,  _ and it doesn’t follow the official Ministry line as all other programmes do, but it’s coded and therefore tricky to tune in… I missed the last episode, so I’m not sure what the password is…”

Draco had rolled his eyes, but he’d left him to it after that, his curiosity spiked. And then, one afternoon, Weasley actually got lucky, shouting in elation as Harry and Draco were stoking the fire in front of the tent. 

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it! Password was ‘Albus’! Get in here, Harry, Malfoy!”

They glanced at each other and then hurried inside, gathering around the wireless perched upon the kitchen table. Hermione was standing behind Weasley, jaw dropped in awe as she listened, and Draco just caught the end of a sentence in a familiar voice.

“... temporary absence from the airwaves, which was due to a number of house calls in our area but those charming Death Eaters.”

“But that’s Lee Jordan!” Hermione hissed. 

It was definitely Jordan. The former Gryffindor continued his introduction into the programme, introducing his co-hosts before launching into a piece of more serious news. 

“It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murder of Dirk Cresswell.”

Draco’s eyes widened and he found Harry’s gaze. The other boy had tensed as well, clearly remembering the time they had overheard the conversation between Cresswell and their friends, only a couple of months ago. And sure enough, Jordan continued: “A goblin named Gornuk was also killed. It is believed that Muggleborns Dean Thomas, Killian Thompson, Yatin Bhagat and a second goblin, all believed to have been travelling with Cresswell and Gornuk, may have escaped. If Dean, Killian or Yatin are listening or if anyone knows about their whereabouts, their families and friends are desperate for news.”

Draco hadn’t realised he was trembling until Harry took his hand, gently squeezing to offer some comfort. Draco could barely concentrate as Jordan continued reporting on the deaths of a Muggle family and Bathilda Bagshot, his thoughts with Yatin and the others. Were they really alright? Had they escaped? For a moment, Abbas’ face came to Draco’s mind, and he flinched. He didn’t want to know what his former teammate was going through right now, not knowing whether the person he had feelings for was dead or alive.

After a moment of silence for the murders that had occurred, Jordan gave over to Kingsley, who advised listeners on safety measures and how to best protect the people close to them from harm. Next up was Remus, and Draco felt a lump in his throat at the sound of his gentle, level-headed voice. God, but he  _ missed _ Remus. 

“Romulus, do you maintain, as you have every time you’ve appeared on our programme, that Harry Potter is still alive?” Jordan asked.

“I do,” Remus said. “There is no doubt in my mind that his death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Death Eaters if it had happened because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. The “Boy Who Lived” remains a symbol of everything for which we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting.”

Draco looked up at Harry, who was biting his lip, as if desperately trying to keep his emotions in check. Draco remembered that the last time he had spoken to Remus, the two of them had fought.

“And what would you say to Harry if you knew he was listening, Romulus?” Jordan asked.

“I’d tell him we’re all with him in spirit,” Remus answered, and then added, with a little hesitation: “And I’d tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right.”

Harry met Draco’s gaze then, raising his eyebrows pointedly. Draco smiled, knowing he was being called out. 

Remus then continued reporting on a series of imprisonments of Harry’s more outspoken supporters, including Xenophilius Lovegood - though imprisonment at least meant he was still alive, Draco figured, so this was good news - and the news that Hagrid narrowly escaped incarceration by fleeing the Hogwarts grounds after having hosted a “Support Harry Potter” party. Draco moaned in despair.

“We urge even the most devoted of Harry’s supporters against following Hagrid’s lead. 'Support Harry Potter' parties are unwise in the present climate,” Remus warned.

“Indeed they are, Romulus,” Jordan agreed. “One last question before we give over to our next correspondent. Amongst the younger generation of the resistance, there has been a notable increase of Slytherin students, and it has led to insecurity about who should be trusted. What would you like to say to hardliners claiming that Slytherins should be exempted from all trustworthy sources?”

“I do encourage being careful,” Remus said. “This is a war, and we need to make sure the person we entrust with vital information isn’t a spy, or else we will put ourselves and others in danger. But please, let’s not forget that at this moment, one of the people at Harry Potter’s side is Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin student himself, with a father in Death Eater ranks.” Draco felt hot all over at the mention of his name, and Harry squeezed his hand again. “His example should prove that the house you’re sorted in or even the ideology of your family doesn’t define the person you turn out to become. Not to mention that Draco’s close friendship to Harry and his open rebellion against his father’s expectations has inspired a lot of his housemates and explains the increase of Slytherin students joining our ranks. I don’t think there is any reason to mistrust that phenomenon. Their intentions are probably genuine. But caution is always commendable, of course.”

“Well put, Romulus,” Jordan agreed. “We at  _ Potterwatch  _ think this is not the time to discriminate between snakes, lions, badgers and eagles. Rather, make sure to sort out the rats and oust them.”

“Couldn’t have said it better, River,” Remus returned, his voice grave.

“And now let’s move to news concerning the wizard who is proving just as elusive as Harry Potter. We like to refer to him as the chief Death Eater, and here to give his views on some of the more insane rumours circulating about him, I’d like to introduce a new correspondent: Rodent.”

_ “‘Rodent’?!” _ An achingly familiar voice called, indignant, and Draco laughed, despite himself.

“Fred?!” Harry and Weasley called, together.

“No - is it George?” Hermione asked.

“It’s Fred, I think,” Weasley shook his head, just as whichever twin it was lamented: “I’m not being  _ ‘Rodent’ _ , no way, I told you I wanted to be ‘Rapier’!”

“Oh, all right then! ‘Rapier’, could you please give us your take on the various stories we’ve been hearing about the Chief Death Eater?”

Fred then launched into a remarkably level-headed and entertaining report about all the bizarre rumours surrounding the Dark Lord, with the clear intention to cut through them with rationality and sarcasm. Soon, all four of them were laughing at Fred drily explaining the difference between a Basilisk and the Dark Lord, amongst other things. When Fred’s corner finally came to an end and Jordan took over, closing the show and giving the next password, it felt way too soon. Draco hadn’t felt this connected to the outside world in ages and he hadn’t even realised that he had missed the contact in the first place. 

“Good, eh?” Weasley said, grinning widely. 

“Brilliant,” Harry agreed.

“It’s so brave of them,” Hermione noted, a little anxious. “If they were found…”

“Well, they keep on the move, don’t they?” Weasley shrugged. “Like us.”

“But did you hear what Fred said?” Harry noted, an edge to his voice now, and Draco knew instantly what was coming. “He’s abroad! He’s still looking for the wand, I knew it!”

“Harry,” Hermione sighed.

“Come on, Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol-”

“HARRY, NO!” Weasley yelled, but Harry pushed on, ignoring him.

“-demort’s after the Elder Wand!”

“The name’s Taboo!” Weasley shouted, eyes wide and desperate now. Even before he had finished speaking, there was a loud cracking sound, announcing an apparition just outside their tent. “I told you, we can’t say it anymore - we’ve got to put the protection back around us - quickly - it’s how they find -”

“It’s too late,” Draco hissed, white panic filling his head. “Get the sword and the bag and let’s apparate the hell out of he-”

But that’s how far he came before footsteps sounded and the tent flap was torn open. Draco shook his arm out, trying to get his wand into his hand in time, but the intruders were faster and he was flung across the room, painfully colliding with the wall. He heard Harry call out in pain, but he could not see what was happening, since everything was spinning for a moment, and then, one of the Snatchers was up in his face, dirty and leering. 

“Get up, vermin,” he commanded, jerking Draco to his feet. Draco’s wand had fallen from his grasp as he had been flung across the room, and he saw someone bend down to pick it up - his heart stopping as he recognised the figure. 

Fenrir Greyback. 

“Search the tent,” someone ordered, and Draco’s eyes went to the others. Weasley was just being dragged outside, and Harry was being restrained by two people - though, apparently, Harry had been hit by some sort of spell, seeing that his face was swollen and almost unrecognisable. 

Hermione, on the other hand, was approached by Greyback. He grinned down at her and made a show at sniffing her and licking his lips. Then, he nodded towards the tent door, where she, too, was dragged outside. Draco and Harry followed soon after, and they were all pushed to their knees and bound next to the fire. There were sounds of the tent being searched and Greyback joined them outside soon, peering into their faces.

“Now, let’s see who we’ve got,” he cooed, voice smug as he studied Harry more closely. He barked out a little laugh. “I’ll be needing Butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?” 

Harry did not answer, and Greyback’s face twisted. With a kick into the stomach, he repeated the question until Harry gasped out: “Stung. I’ve been stung.”

“Yeah, looks like it,” one of Greyback’s accomplices supplied from the side.

“What’s your name?” Greyback ground out.

“Dudley,” Harry gasped.

“And your first name?”

“I - Vernon. Vernon Dudley.”

“Check the list, Scabior,” Greyback snarled before moving on to Draco. The moment his eyes landed on his face, they widened, first in recognition, then in delight. Draco’s heart fell.

“Well, well,” he muttered, a smile spreading over his face. “Look who we’ve got here. Long time no see, Draco Malfoy.”

It took everything inside of Draco to keep quiet. He inwardly ran through his options. It was no use denying his identity - he had come face to face with Greyback last year, and the werewolf obviously hadn’t forgotten his face. The only thing he could try to do now was save his friends, especially Harry. 

“Your father will be so pleased to hear that we found you,” Greyback chuckled, reaching out to catch Draco’s chin between sharp-nailed fingers. Draco could hear Harry shift next to him, clearly resisting his bindings. “He’s been looking all over for you, you know.”

“Is it really him, Fenrir?” One of the other Snatchers hissed, glee evident in his voice. “Bloody hell, they’ll pay a fortune!”

“Oh, it’s him, alright,” Greyback snorted, finally letting go of Draco. “Hard to not recognise a Malfoy. They stick out.” He turned to Hermione, his smile widening: “So that must make you the Mudblood girl he’s been travelling with.”

“No,” Draco protested, in a feeble attempt to at least save the others. “They’ve got nothing to do with this - I got separated from the others a while ago and I came across this lot yesterday. They gave me food and a place to sleep.”

“Please,” Greyback laughed, sounding amused. “You really think I believe that?”

“It’s the truth,” Draco lied through his teeth. “They had no idea who I was, so if you’d just spare them and take me -”

“Nice try,” Greyback cut him. He turned away from Hermione to study Weasley. “And who are you?” he demanded. 

“Stan Shunpike,” Weasley lied.

“Like ‘ell you are,” Scabior called. “We know Stan Shunpike, ‘e’s put a bit of work our way.”

“Barny,” Weasley settled on eventually. “Barny Weasley.”

“A Weasley?” Greyback snorted. “Well, doesn’t that make sense? Blood traitors, the lot of them. So, that leaves you…” he turned back to Harry, studying him more closely. Then, he muttered: “What’s that on your forehead,  _ Vernon?” _

Draco bit his lip. No. Please, Merlin, no. 

“I thought you wore glasses, Potter,” Greyback breathed, eyes intent on Harry’s face.

“I found glasses!” one of the Snatchers called. He hurried back into the tent to retrieve them, only to return soon later to push Harry’s glasses onto his face roughly. All of them had closed in on Harry now, gaping, and then Greyback gasped: “It is! We’ve caught Potter!”

It was all Draco could do to sit there, helpless as the Snatchers discussed their fate - the Ministry? Straight to You-Know-Who? - before they finally settled on taking them to Malfoy Manor, which the Dark Lord apparently used as a base. Draco felt cold all over at the thought of being dragged into his family home as a prisoner. 

“Let’s get the others so we can take off!” Greyback called, and it took Draco a moment to understand that they were talking about other prisoners they had taken. Not that Draco had much capacity to worry about other people at the moment. All his capacities were pretty much used up.

Or that was what he’d thought until Scabior and a couple of other Snatchers reappeared with Yatin, Killian and Thomas in tow, as well as the surviving goblin. Draco gaped, and his eyes found Yatin’s. He seemed despaired to find Draco there with him. 

“Up you get!” Greyback called before Draco had any chance to communicate with Yatin further, though. He yanked him to his feet roughly, shoving him towards Scabior before pulling up Harry. They rounded them up like sheep, bound as they were, making sure that they had a good hold of each of them for the apparition. 

The sudden lurch almost unsettled them enough to make them tumble to the ground, but the Snatchers were sure to keep them upright, giving them no time to recover before roughly shoving them onwards, down a familiar country lane that Draco had walked countless of times and that still, he had hoped to never walk again.

They soon reached the iron gates of Malfoy Manor and Greyback reached out to pull Draco to the front, shoving him forwards. 

“Come on!” he called. “It’s your home, after all! Tell your Daddy to open up!”

Draco gulped, his attempts to stand straight futile thanks to the bindings that kept him in a bowed position. He stepped up to the gate, and soon, the metal shifted and twisted into the form of a face. 

“State your purpose!” it demanded, it’s voice imperial.

Draco couldn’t speak. With a snarl, Greyback stepped up behind him. 

“We’ve got Potter!” he announced, practically preening. “We’ve captured Potter, and your worthless excuse of a son!”

Immediately, the doors swung open, and Draco was pushed forwards, a tight grip on his neck, sharp fingernails digging into his flesh. Draco saw only flashes of the grounds as they were dragged on towards the Manor - the impeccably kept grass, the high hedges, the peacocks - and then, they had reached the front steps, and his father was waiting for them by the open doors.

Lucius Malfoy had changed a lot since the last time Draco had come face to face with him. His superior, flawless appearance had crumbled to an extent that would have been terrifying if Draco had had it in him to care. His long, blond hair was unkempt and his grey eyes were bloodshot as he stared down at Draco, face unreadable. 

“What is this?” he asked finally, addressing Greyback with the ghost of his erstwhile contempt. It was almost soothing, under the current circumstances.

“We’re here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” Greyback said.

“Who are you?”

“You know me!” Greyback roared, indignant now. “Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter, and we brought your wayward son back to you!”

At those words, Lucius’ eyes found Draco’s again. “That, you have,” he muttered. He took a step back into the Manor. “Follow me.”

And so, Draco found himself dragged over the threshold of his ancestral home and all the way towards the drawing room, where Greyback lost patience with his slow pace and kicked him, causing him to stumble and connect with the hard marble floor. 

Lucius’ eyes flashed to Greyback. “Who allowed you to manhandle my son like that in my own house?” he hissed. 

“Excuse me?” Greyback gaped.

“Step back from him at once,” Lucius demanded. “I will be the one to see to his punishment, and no one else.”

Greyback’s jaw was set, but he seemed to know that, if he wanted to see even a Knut for Draco’s capture, he had to play by the rules, so he reluctantly stepped back. 

It allowed Lucius to approach Draco, and Draco was shocked to feel himself pulled into a sitting position. He frowned up at his father, who was studying him with a stony expression.

“Draco,” he said softly, almost pleadingly. “If we are the ones to hand Harry Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgotten -,”

“Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr Malfoy?” Greyback injected, glaring at him.

“You shut your mouth!” Lucius snapped before returning his attention to his son. “I’m sure I can even convince him to spare your life if you come to your senses now.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. They just looked at each other for a long moment, father and son assessing each other.

“So, I’m going to ask you now,” Lucius said, very quietly. “Is this boy Harry Potter?”

“No,” Draco said, immediately. “I got separated from Harry a while ago. Have been unable to track him down again.”

“He’s lying!” Greyback roared.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ raise your voice against him!” Lucius warned, as menacing as Draco had ever seen him. He could tell that it was all an act, though. His father was clearly nervous. He was kneading his fingers, restless, and his eyes kept flickering from Harry to Draco and back. “We had better be certain,” he muttered, “before we summon the Dark Lord… If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing… remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?” 

“You’re stalling!” Greyback accused. “You’re trying to save your worthless son’s skin!”

“Believe me, my son was dead to me the moment he ran off with Potter,” Lucius drawled, his voice steely as he got to his feet. He did not meet Draco’s eyes, though. “I’m merely being careful. We cannot call the Dark Lord without being absolutely -”

“What’s this? What happened, Lucius?”

Lucius Malfoy froze, and his eyes widened just so. Meanwhile, Bellatrix Lestrange walked into the room, and her eyes immediately fell onto Draco, as they were bound to.

“Well, hello, my favourite nephew,” she grinned, a slow, deranged smile spreading across her face and it made Draco feel sick to the stomach. “You don’t know how much I’ve been longing to meet you.”

“Bella,” Lucius said stiffly. “I have it under control. There’s no need for you to -”

“Oh, hush, Lucius,” she cut him off, approaching Draco with quick steps, dodging Lucius as she knelt down to gaze into his face. “I want to have some bonding time, too.” She reached out to touch him, and Draco flinched away, making her cackle. “So feisty,” she cooed. “So pretty. You look just like your father, but there’s something in your face that’s all Cissy… I can see why she dotes on you so much…” she sighed, shaking her head. “A shame it ruined her. I’m going to have to kill her next time I see her.”

Draco felt like he was going to throw up. Above them, his father’s face had taken on a slightly grey-ish tint, too. 

“But of course, you’re first, my dear,” she beamed, patting his cheek before getting to her feet once more and looking around, taking in the faces of the other prisoners. “Now, who do we have here… isn’t that the Mudblood girl? Granger?”

“It’s her!” Greyback confirmed. “And this is Potter, we are sure of it!” He was shaking Harry by the shoulder, clearly trying to draw her attention to their star prisoner, but Bellatrix had become distracted - her eyes had fallen onto one of the nameless Snatchers, and she had frozen, her expression morphing into one of horror. 

“What is that?” she breathed. 

“Sword,” the Snatcher ground out.

“Give it to me,” she demanded. 

“It’s not yorn, Missus, it’s mine. I reckon I found it -”

That’s how far he came, though, before she drew out her wand and shot a curse at him. Draco flinched away, overbalancing and tumbling to the ground. His father stepped in front of him, obstructing his vision. He could hear his aunt calling hexes, like the madwoman she was, and there were shouts and the sound of a fight and then, Bellatrix was back in front of him, shoving Lucius Malfoy to the side and grabbing Draco by the front of his shirt, a murderous expression on her face. 

She was holding Gryffindor’s sword.

“Where did you get this sword?” she spat.

“Bella!” Lucius called, trying to intervene, but she shrugged him off, yelling: “Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine! We have a very serious problem!” She glanced back down at Draco, eyes wide in panic, before she ordered: “Wormtail, move this scum outside. Greyback, take the prisoners down to the cellar. I need to have a word with little Draco, aunty to nephew.”


	14. Informational Post in Between

Dear readers,

this is not an actual update, but an informational post with some things that I'd like to put out here. Don't worry, it's not too serious.

The first is that I finished writing the actual DIAOA series and am now planning the sequel! For that purpose, I'd like your cooperation. Please follow this[ link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26061475) for further details.

The second is that I am afraid I might have to postpone the next update by a day. I am very sorry, especially seeing that it's such a cliffhanger. I have work appointments on the next 2 Saturdays and work through the week. I hope I can make it the Sunday in two weeks. If not, please have my apologies. You know the reason. 

The third issue I want to address is my twitter account. I got in a bit of a quarrel and had to lock my account because I was afraid people might try to have me suspended or something. My backup account is still open. If you want to follow me, please message me via @IntoBlondPrats2 and tell me who you are, just so I know that you're actually a reader and don't mean me harm. Then, I'll let you follow me under my real account. I'm very sorry for the hoops I'm letting you jump through - I know it might scare some people away, but I had an account suspended before, and I don't want to go through the hassle again. Plus, I'm sort of tired of being attacked. So for now, the account stays locked. Maybe it will be opened again at some point. We will see. 

Sorry for the purely informational post. I promise the next one will have content again. Love you and hope you have a great day!


	15. Chapter Fourteen: The Different Facettes of Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I made it through two horribly packed work weeks and now I'm back with the new chapter :D I know you're probably on your toes waiting for the continuation of the last chapter - or dreading it, depending on your mood ;)
> 
> A word of warning: As you have probably already figured out, this chapter contains physical torture. If you want to skip that part, I will mark the beginnings and end of it with ***pt*** and ***/pt/***. I will put a short summary of what happened in the endnotes.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> PS: Please refrain from putting suggestions for the sequel in the comments for this story. It will be hard for me to find them back in retrospect. Please refer to the link I put in the last post for the sequel poll if you want to suggest anything. Thank you.

“No!” he could hear Harry gasp, and he wanted to tell him to stop protesting - he would end up giving himself away, and then it would all be for nothing, and they would all be dead rather sooner than later - “No! Draco!  _ Draco!” _

He could hear Harry struggling even when he was long gone from the room, could hear him call Draco’s name from the hallway, but Draco knew, with complete clarity, that there was nothing Harry could do to help him. 

He looked up at his aunt and felt paralysed with fear.

***pt***

“Now,” Bellatrix hissed, moving closer until she was all up in Draco’s face, wand digging into his chest. “Storytime. Where did you get the sword?”

“We found it!” Draco gasped. 

“Liar!” Bellatrix yelled, and the sudden volume of her voice made him flinch. “Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!”

“It’s the truth,” Draco muttered, his voice shaky. “We found it in the Forest of Dean. It was - in the bottom of a lake, and -”

“Liar!” Bellatrix cut him off, and then, she muttered:  _ “Crucio!” _

Draco could hear his father yell in the background, but he could not make out the words for the pain drove out everything else. He had been under the Cruciatus Curse before, when Nott had lost his temper, but this, with his aunt aiming her wand at him, felt a hundred times worse - maybe it was because Bellatrix Lestrange was so cold-blooded in the face of causing others pain that she could focus the spell more purposefully, or maybe it was because his own magic recognised the blood connection between them. Whichever it was, the pain consumed him and when she finally ended the spell, tears were streaming down his face, and he had trouble drawing in breaths from the way his chest was constricting. The ropes had cut into his flesh from his struggles, and blood was dripping down his wrists. 

“Willing to tell the truth now?” she hissed, and her thin fingers closed around Draco’s throat, pressing down. Draco gasped for breath.

“Bellatrix!” Lucius bellowed. “That’s enough!”

“You will not interfere, Lucius, or I swear to Salazar, I will kill you along with him!” Bellatrix shot back. “And let’s not kid ourselves, the Dark Lord wouldn’t mind one bit! You’ve been nothing but a disappointment to him ever since he returned!”

“This is my house, Bella,” Lucius warned. “You don’t give orders in my -”

“You have no authority over me, Lucius!” Bellatrix shouted, and then, she pointed her wand at him and shot a Stunning Spell at him. It hit Lucius right in his chest and he went down like a sack of potatoes.

Apparently satisfied, she returned her attention to Draco. “Now,” she hissed, “how did you get into my vaults?”

“I didn’t,” Draco gasped out. “We’ve never been to your vaults. We haven’t seen the inside of Gringotts, or Diagon Alley, in months. I told you -”

“Still not willing to talk, are you?” she shook her head, and then, the pain was back, even worse than before, and Draco felt like he was drowning in it. He was going to die of this, he was sure of it. There was no way he would ever survive this.

He would never see Harry again.

When she cancelled the spell for a second time, it took Draco a while to come back to himself. His senses were on overdrive and his brain seemed to be unable to connect a single thought. His aunt, though, had no patience for such matters. When he didn’t react to her questions right away, she slapped him across the face until he did, his eyes fluttering open to look at her.

“How did you get in?” she called. “What else did you take?”

“We weren’t there,” Draco moaned. “I swear, we weren’t there!”

“Of course, you were!” Bellatrix shrieked. “The sword is proof! Tell me what else you took! Or I swear, I will bring that Mudblood friend of yours up here and slaughter her while you watch!”

And then, the pain was back, and Draco wished that he wasn’t bound so he could tear his limbs from his body just so that it would  _ stop. _ Even screaming hurt, but he seemed to be unable to stop doing that, either. He thrashed and hit his head against the stone floor, but he barely felt the pain, it only being a background thought in the sea of all the other excruciating sensations he was experiencing. 

His ears were ringing when his aunt lifted the spell again. He felt disoriented. He couldn’t connect anything he was feeling with actual thoughts anymore. It seemed like his brain had eclipsed, in an attempt to protect itself from what was happening to him. 

His aunt was shaking him, and distantly, he heard her talking to someone. Then, she smacked him flat across the face, one, two, three, four times, until he stirred. 

“You’d better not blank out on me,” she sneered. “I’ll have to kill you if you do. You’re no use to me if you can’t talk.”

Draco just stared up at her, unsure what to respond to that. 

“I just sent for the goblin,” she informed him. “If this is the real sword of Godric Gryffindor, he’ll be able to tell. And then we’ll know you lied. So this is your last chance to tell me the truth.”

“I told you the truth,” Draco croaked. “We found the sword. We’ve never been to your vault.”

Her lip curled, but before she could respond, there were two sets of footsteps approaching them. 

“I brought the goblin, Mistress Bellatrix,” Wormtail informed her in a manner more befitting a house-elf than a wizard.

“You!” Bellatrix snapped, dropping Draco to the floor and rounding onto the goblin. “Look at the sword! Tell me if it’s authentic or not!”

Draco closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate. This was it. 

At least, it was going to be over soon. 

But then, much to Draco’s shock, he told Bellatrix: “It’s a fake.”

“Are you sure?” she hissed. “Quite sure?”

“Yes,” the goblin lied calmly, and Draco had no idea what was going on, what he had to gain from helping them. But he had no time to ponder the matter because then, Bellatrix turned back to him, her expression one of overwhelming relief.

“Good,” she sighed. “And now, we will talk about that boy down there, who’s been so desperately calling your name. Because, Draco, dear, are you really going to tell me that isn’t your boyfriend?” 

Draco closed his eyes. Bloody hell, Harry had always predicted that Draco was going to die protecting him. 

“It’s not him,” Draco whispered, knowing full-well it was no use but determined to die clinging to that lie, no matter what.

“You really are a stubborn one,” she noted, sounding almost curious now. “You know, we can just wait for whatever spell you put on him to wear off, right?”

Of course, Draco knew. No matter what his aunt thought, he was far from stupid. 

“I’m not a very patient woman, though,” she sighed. “I  _ so _ hate waiting, and I really don’t think family members should keep secrets from each other, anyway. Don’t you?” 

Her wand was back, digging into Draco’s throat this time, and he just stared up at her blankly. 

“Shall we make a bet?” she whispered. “How long it will take for you to break?”

And then, the pain was back, and if possible, it was the worst wave yet. It seemed that Bellatrix was focusing all her energy into it this time, and Draco was sure that he was going to come apart by the seams because surely, that much pain couldn’t be contained any longer - 

***/pt/***

And then, it was gone, and Draco was unsure how it had happened for a long moment. There was shouting and flashes of light, which his mind did not recognise as spells, and then he was dragged into an upright position and Bellatrix was holding a blade to his throat.

“STOP IT OR HE DIES!” she shouted.

Draco blinked, and he could make out Harry, back to his usual self, with Hermione, Weasley and Yatin across the room. Wormtail was cowering not far from them, wandless. His father was still out cold in a corner.

Harry was staring at Draco with wide, horrified eyes and he was slowly lowering the wand he was holding. Draco tried to shake his head - he wanted to tell Harry to just push on, who cared what happened to him - but his head only lulled from one side to another, not quite listening to him. He felt strange, as if his brain was wrapped into a thick layer of cotton and his body was very disconnected from it. 

“Drop your wands,” Bellatrix whispered. “Drop them, or your boyfriend’s pretty head will come clean off.”

“All right!” Harry called, immediately dropping his wand onto the floor and holding up his bare hands to show that he was unharmed. Reluctantly, the others followed his example, and Wormtail scurried forward to pick up the wands. “There,” Harry said. “Just… don’t hurt him.”

“I’m afraid that’s a promise I can’t keep, Potter,” she cackled. “But it’s okay. He’ll watch you die, not the other way around.”

Draco couldn’t help the shudder running down his spine at that.  _ This couldn’t be happening,  _ he thought desperately.  _ After everything, it couldn’t end this way.  _

And then, metal was jingling above them and there was a sound of something being yanked from stone. Draco’s fuzzy mind couldn’t connect the noises to his surroundings, and only when he realised that everyone was looking upwards did he, too, follow their eyes - just in time to see the chandelier crashing down towards them. 

Bellatrix screamed and let go of him, throwing herself out of the way. Draco, though, was too slow to react. He would have been hit if familiar arms had not wrapped around him and pulled him aside in the last moment. Disoriented, Draco leaned into Harry, who clung to him, shielding him from the shards of crystal that had rained down all around them. 

Chaos had broken out again with the falling of the chandelier. Yatin and Weasley had recovered the wands from Wormtail and Hermione warded them with a protection spell. Suddenly, they were all huddling around Harry and Draco. Only now, Draco realised that Dobby was amongst them, and the goblin, who was clutching the sword of Gryffindor. 

Bellatrix was yelling something, and then she was throwing the blade she had threatened Draco with towards them, but it bounced off on Hermione’s Shield Charm. 

And then, there was a pulling sensation around his navel, and the Manor disappeared around them. 

When Draco opened his eyes again, it was to the scent of salt in the air, cold wind hitting his face and Harry desperately calling his name. 

“Draco!” he cried, his voice hitching as he touched his cheek with gentle fingers, his other arm still firmly holding him to his chest. “Draco, please say something!  _ Draco!” _

Draco gulped, trying to make his mind form words, but it still felt too blurry and even if he found any, he wasn’t sure they’d reach his tongue. So he reached up to cover Harry’s hand with his instead, hoping it would be reassurance enough. All he got for his efforts was an anguished sob.

“Harry, you should get him inside,” a soft, pleasant voice said, one that was familiar and that he hadn’t heard in a long time. Luna. Where had she come from? “It’s cold out here.”

“Can Dobby do anything for Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Sir?” Dobby squeaked, and Draco could hear that he was fretting by the tone of his voice. “Dobby could go back and drop another chandelier on Miss Bellatrix -”

“You will do no such thing, Dobby!” Hermione cut him off, her voice thin. 

“Luna is right, he needs to get warm,” Yatin said, leaning close to them as he spoke into Harry’s ear. “Maybe that elf could apparate you into that house since he seems to be able to forego wards? He could take Griphook, too, he’s not in a good shape… The rest of us can walk.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed shakily, his thumb gingerly tracing a bruise on Draco’s cheek. Draco didn’t even have the energy to flinch. "Yeah… right. Dobby, can you get us up to Bill and Fleur’s? I don’t think Draco can make the way.”

“Of course, Harry Potter, Sir,” Dobby squeaked, and a moment later, there was another pulling sensation around his navel as they moved locations once more. It left Draco feeling sick when they reappeared, and he was unable to sort through all the noises that surrounded him - people were talking, and there were more cracking noises, Dobby disappearing and reappearing again, this time with the goblin in tow. Draco was moved and then, there was a soft surface underneath him, and Harry was still stroking his hair back as a blanket was draped over him. 

“How long did she torture him?” someone asked. 

“I don’t know,” Harry asked, sounding despaired. “It seemed to go on forever.”

“Draco?” the voice said, and then, someone shook his shoulder. “Draco, please open your eyes. Talk to me.”

It took all of Draco’s willpower to tear his eyes open again and blink blurrily up at Bill Weasley. 

“Hi,” Bill smiled at him, his scarred face worry-lined. “I’m sorry to keep you from your much-needed rest, but I need to make sure you’re okay first. Can you tell me your name?”

Draco gulped. Speaking seemed like an impossible task, but Harry and Bill were patient as he found the strength to open his mouth enough to slur out a barely comprehensible: “Dra’o Mal-foy.”

“That’s it,” Bill praised him. “Now, how old are you?”

Draco closed his eyes again. Numbers were hard. They blurred into each other. “F-fourteen,” he settled on.

There was a choked-out breath from Harry next to him. A moment of silence, then Bill asked: “Who am I, Draco?”

Draco sighed, muttering: “Bill.” 

“That’s right. And who’s this?” 

“Harry.” He hoped that Bill was pointing to Harry because like hell was he opening his eyes again. 

“Okay. His brain doesn’t seem to be permanently addled, but we can’t really tell until he’s rested. But I think he’ll be alright.”

“Thank you, Bill,” Harry whispered. Draco felt Harry’s lips press against his forehead and then, he knew nothing anymore. 

When Draco opened his eyes next, it was dark and the mattress was shifting underneath him. He panicked for a moment but then, strong arms closed around him and he was drawn against a warm, familiar body. Draco relaxed again, resting his head on Harry’s chest.

“Sleep,” Harry whispered. “You need to rest.”

And sleep, Draco did.

When he woke for the second time, his head was still pillowed on Harry’s chest, but the sun had already come up, bathing the unfamiliar room into a soft, friendly light. Harry’s breaths were soft and even but when Draco moved just so to adjust his position, Harry’s hand came up to card through his hair, telling Draco that he was wide awake. 

“Morning,” Draco croaked out. 

“Morning,” Harry muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “How are you feeling?”

Draco took a moment to think about that. His brain seemed to be able to string thoughts together again, which was a good sign. He stretched tenderly and felt his muscles protest only feebly against the movement. 

“Sore,” he settled on. “But other than that, fine.”

“Good,” Harry breathed. “That’s good.” He continued to hold Draco, making no haste to get up, and Draco closed his eyes, content to stay put for as long as he was allowed. They didn’t get to do this often enough, he decided. 

“The others let us sleep in,” Harry told him eventually. “They said you should get as much rest as you need.”

“That’s thoughtful,” Draco murmured. “Is everyone okay?” 

“Yes,” Harry assured him. “Ollivander is pretty beaten up, and the goblin -”

“Ollivander?” Draco asked, frowning. “When did we pick up Ollivander?” 

“He was in the dungeon with Luna. Dobby brought them to safety, together with Dean and Killian, before Ron, Hermione, Yatin and I went to save you.”

“Well, looks like I missed quite a reunion,” Draco sighed. “Then again, I was attending my own reunion upstairs.”

Harry took in a sharp breath, and his arms tightened around Draco. It made him want to take back his words.

“Don’t -” he started, his voice thin, before gulping and continuing: “Don’t joke about what happened to you.”

Draco stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. Cynicism was his get-to response, after all. 

“I guess it would be pointless to ask you to just stay here with Bill and Fleur and keep out of danger?” Harry asked, his tone small.

“You know the answer to that,” Draco reminded him.

“I know, but - Draco, this is the second time in a couple of months you almost died on me, and both times it would have been  _ my _ fault.”

“Salazar, Harry,” Draco groaned. “I’m too wrung out to play this game with you. I’m not going to indulge you trying to blame yourself for every harm that comes to us. Yes, something bad happened. We can’t change it. We survived. Let’s move on.” It was obvious how unhappy Harry was with Draco’s words in the lack of his reply. Draco sighed, put off. “Listen,” he huffed. “I’m not going anywhere. So don’t you dare ask me again to leave you, because I might actually scream if you do.”

“I have heard you scream enough in the past 24 hours,” Harry whispered. “I don’t want to hear it ever again.”

“There you go,” Draco grumbled. “So drop it already, will you?”

No response again, and then, Harry’s arms tightened enough around Draco to be suffocating. But Draco didn’t complain; he just let himself be held, knowing that this was what his boyfriend needed to heal the wounds the last night had inflicted upon him, in turn. 

When they finally got up, it was because Draco’s stomach was grumbling and Harry told him there was food in the kitchen. Bill and Fleur had put them up on the couch in the living room. It seemed like Ollivander and Griphook had taken the two guest rooms, and the rest of the house guest had slept all over the house on mattresses. 

Most of the house’s temporary and permanent inhabitants were gathered in the bursting kitchen. Fleur was standing at the counter, preparing some kind of pastry aided by a cheerful Killian; Bill, Yatin, Ron and Hermione seemed to be in a deep discussion about something in the  _ Daily Prophet _ while Luna and Dean were drinking tea and debating over what appeared to be the existence of Nargles in this house. Or maybe at Malfoy Manor. It was hard to tell, from a distance. 

Hermione was the first one to notice their arrival in the room, and she jumped to her feet instantly, her chair scraping over the wooden floor as she sprinted across the room to fly into Draco’s arms. 

“Woah, easy there,” Draco chuckled, swaying a little, but Harry’s hand on his back held him steady. “Maybe you should let me get some food before you try to knock me over?”

“Sorry,” Hermione breathed into his chest, and her voice sounded teary. “I just - god, Draco, I’m so glad to see you! Are you okay? Are you feeling only the slightest bit off?”

“I’m fine, Hermione,” Draco smiled, patting her bushy head to calm her. “I’m just hungry, really.”

“Well, we saved food for you,” Fleur told him briskly, interrupting Hermione’s display of affection by procuring a plate of breakfast to beckon Draco with it. “Sit down and eat, before you fall over.”

Draco smiled at her gratefully and accepted the plate. Harry gently guided him into the nearest empty seat, which was the one next to Yatin’s. Harry sat down next to him and Hermione awkwardly hovered at his shoulder, apparently worried that he was going to have some sort of seizure should she return to her own chair. 

“So,” Draco asked as he dug into his foot. It was delicious - Fleur had made French breakfast, meaning his plate was decked with slices of bread, cheese, and at the side, some fruit and a pains au chocolat. Draco felt like he was back at their own French estate. “What else did I miss while I was out?”

Draco saw Harry exchange a gaze with Weasley, meaning that he would probably only get the official version here at the breakfast table. Well, better than nothing.

“I contacted your family, letting them know that you’re safe,” Bill offered. “Narcissa sends her love. I also moved Mum, Dad and Ginny to Muriel’s last night - the Death Eaters are aware now that Ron has been on the run with Harry, after all, so it was time to put them out of danger. Dad won’t be able to go to work, but it’s probably better that way. It was only a matter of time, anyway.”

Draco glanced sideways at Harry. He was staring at his hands, not meeting anyone’s eyes. 

“We’ll keep the lot of you here for now, until we get Ollivander and Griphook sorted and until we figured out where to best put you,” Bill continued. “We’ve been in contact with the Order and we’ve been discussing safe houses.”

“We really appreciate everything that you do, Bill,” Killian smiled at him. 

“Don’t mention it,” Bill waved him off. “That’s what the Order does. We watch out for each other.”

“Like Dumbledore’s Army,” Luna piped in brightly. “We’ve been doing the same thing at Hogwarts.”

“Right,” Dean frowned. “How’s that been going? We heard stories, about you and Ginny…”

“Oh, last I heard, everyone was doing fine,” Luna assured him. “The Carrows are really strict, though. They are using Unforgivables as punishment whenever we disobey them.”

“They what?!” Killian called, wide-eyed.

“Yeah,” Luna shrugged. “They even made students use them on students. But it’s not working as well as they hoped. Blaise and Pansy have been working from the inside at Slytherin house, destabilising the morale.”

“Bless them,” Yatin smiled. “Knew there was something about them.”

“They were doing a good job when I was still there,” Luna smiled. “And the DA has been openly rebelling, trying to give people hope. A bit like Harry did for us in fifth year? They really have it in for some of us, though. Ryan, for example, and Ginny and Neville. It’s probably good Ginny won’t return after the holidays.”

“Not surprised about Ryan,” Yatin sighed. “He never knew when to keep his mouth shut. A bit stomped about Longbottom, though.”

“Oh, you should see him!” Luna preened. “He’s a real leader!”

Draco felt in equal parts worried and proud at that news. He caught Luna’s eyes as he asked: “What about Yurika?”

Her smile fell a little. “I haven’t heard from her since I was taken from the Hogwarts Express,” she admitted. “I hope she is okay.”

“We’ve sent out a message to Hogwarts through the Order,” Bill told her in a kind voice. “I’m sure she’ll get it soon.”

Draco frowned and reached for the necklace he was wearing. He hesitated only for a moment before pulling it off and handing it to Luna. 

“Put it on and think of her,” he instructed. “Then you should be able to see her.”

Luna’s eyes widened as she reached out for the necklace. Over at the sink, there was a slight crash as Killian dropped a plate to the floor, looking frozen. 

“Does this really work?” he asked, sounding breathless. “You can see anyone you want? Can I try, too?”

“Of course,” Draco promised. “You can all use it, if you want.”

Killian’s eyes seemed slightly watery at his answer, and Draco’s heart ached for him. He thought he knew exactly who Killian so desperately wanted to see. 

Harry’s hand reached out for Draco’s knee as Luna, Killian, Dean and Yatin all left the room to use the necklace in turn, looking for some privacy. “That was kind of you,” he whispered.

Draco smiled at him. “We all can relate to caring that deeply about people we’re separated from due to this war, I think,” Draco shrugged.

Harry nodded. He was silent for a moment, then he muttered: “Eat up. We’ll need to talk in private after you did.”

Draco nodded. Hermione squeezed his shoulder in comfort. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the torture scene: Bellatrix, convinced that Draco and the others have stolen the sword from her vault at Gringotts, tortures Draco with the Cruciato Curse to get information out of him. Lucius tries to stop her, if only verbally, but she stuns him to silence him. When he insists that they found the sword and were never in their vault to begin with, she calls up Griphook, the goblin, to confirm whether or not the sword is authentic. Griphook lies and says it's a fake. Relieved, Bellatrix turns her attention back to Draco and tries to extract a confirmation from him that "the boy desperately calling his name" down there is in fact Harry. Draco refuses to give him away and Bellatrix returns to torturing the truth out of him. That's when Harry & Co burst in.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: If We Survive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Back with the new chapter! This one contains an explicit sex scene! If you want to skip it, please look out for the markings - ***e*** for the beginning and ***/e/*** for the ending of the scene. Explanations of what happens in the scene can be found in the endnotes. 
> 
> Happy reading :D

“Hey,” Hermione smiled at him, lingering in the doorway as Draco jotted down another quick note. 

“Hey, yourself,” Draco grinned, patting the place on the couch Harry and himself had been sleeping on for the last couple of nights, indicating for her to sit down next to him. She did so without another word, glancing at his notebook.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m still trying to figure out how to create that magical void so we can destroy a Horcrux with it,” Draco sighed. “My calculations are always just the slightest bit off. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Well, we have the sword now,” Hermione reminded him.

“Yes, but Harry just dealt that away to get Griphook to smuggle us into Gringotts, now didn’t he?” Draco told her impatiently. “ _He_ might be convinced that he can outsmart a goblin, but I am not. So I’m working on our plan B.”

“Good idea,” Hermione nodded, leaning into him a little. “To be honest, I hate that whole plan. It’s bound to go horribly wrong.”

“I know,” Draco sighed. “But it’s the best we have. Harry is right, with the way my aunt questioned me, there’s sure to be a Horcrux hidden in her vault.”

Hermione hummed, before admitting, very quietly: “I’m not sure I can pull off acting like Bellatrix convincingly.”

Draco held in, biting his lip, before whispering: “I had the same thought.”

She looked at him pleadingly. “Can’t you help me?” she begged. “Maybe we could… I don’t know… Practice?” 

“We could try,” Draco sighed, shutting both his notebook and the journal he had been reading and putting it aside. “Let’s see your Bellatrix, then.”

“What, now?” she asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Do you need to get in character?” Draco scoffed. “Need to cast a few Unforgivables first?” Hermione flinched and Draco felt bad immediately. “Sorry,” he sighed.

“You know,” she said, sounding miserable. “You’d make a much better Bellatrix, I’m sure of it.”

Draco held in, considering. “You know,” he muttered. “That’s not a half-bad idea.”

“What?” Hermione asked, gaping at him. 

“Why don’t I do it?” he shrugged. “She’s my family, after all. I know her kind better than you do. I can pull it off, I’m sure.”

“But you’re… well… not a woman…” Hermione finished, rather lamely.

“Polyjuice Potion won’t discriminate by gender,” Draco shrugged. “I can very well transform into a woman if I want to. It will be strange for me, sure, and I might have to practice walking convincingly in heels, but well… So do you, Hermione. No offence.”

“I don’t know, Draco,” Hermione bit her lip. “Harry will  _ hate _ this.”

“Harry wants to wrap me in cotton and unpack me when the war is over,” Draco rolled his eyes. “He hates everything on principle, Hermione. That should not be a deterring factor.”

“Absolutely not, Draco.” 

“Harry -”

“No.”

“It only makes sense!”

“Oh, does it? Tell me how it makes sense for you to take the body of your aunt after she almost tortured you into insanity a couple of days ago so that we can break into her vault. Please. Enlighten me.”

“Well, someone has to do it, and I’m the best man for the job!”

“You’re not! You’re the most vulnerable out of all of us, and you should be well-hidden, not exposed like this!”

“That’s bullshit, Harry, _you_ ’re the most vulnerable, not me! Not to mention I won’t be exposed, I’ll be camouflaged.”

“If something goes wrong, you’ll be the one they go after first!”

“You’ll be right there with me, and you’ll get me out of there!”

“What if we can’t! I’m not risking you like that again, Draco!”

“Oh, but you’ll risk Hermione?”

“That’s not -”

“Hermione, who’s more likely to expose herself because she doesn’t know a thing about my family or how to behave convincingly as a member of it? She’ll give herself away in a heartbeat! At least I can act as if I don’t give a fuck about people, Harry! So I’m going to do this. End of discussion.”

Harry stared at him, jaw tight. Then, he looked away, shaking his head. “You never listen to me,” he grumbled. 

“Oh, look who’s talking,” Draco shot back.

Harry’s shoulders sagged and he suddenly looked very, very tired. 

“I just want you to be safe,” he whispered.

Draco sighed and walked over to him, pulling him against his chest. 

“Then let’s work on this plan and make sure it’s as foolproof as it can get, alright?” Draco suggested. “That’s the best we can do.”

Harry nodded and rested his head against Draco’s shoulder. 

Harry had, very reluctantly, caught him up on everything that had happened while Draco had been out cold over the last couple of days, bit by bit, as if he was afraid Draco would have some sort of seizure if he was fed too much information at once. From what Draco had gathered, the Dark Lord was now in possession of the Elder Wand, which had been buried with Dumbledore - a fact that Weasley still smarted from, because Harry had kept his visions quiet until it was too late to do anything to change it. 

“You were right,” Harry had shrugged, “the Horcruxes are more important than the Hallows.”

Draco also suspected that he hadn’t wanted to leave Draco behind while he was unsure whether or not he would recover, but they did not talk about that. Some things were better left unsaid. 

Harry had, apparently, spent a long time questioning Ollivander about wandlore, though he wasn’t very forthcoming on any conclusions he’d taken from that conversation. When Draco tried to needle him, he became very quiet, so he eventually gave up.

He was far more willing to discuss his plan to break into Gringotts to steal whichever Horcrux his aunt was hiding away in her vault - until now, at least. And whenever Draco’s new role in their plan came up, he would get that sour look on his face that made Draco ask every legendary wizard he knew for patience. Maybe one of them was listening and sympathetic to his plight.

“I'm half-expecting him to dose me with sleeping potion on the day of our departure so he can sneak off without me,” Draco grumbled, striding around the deserted girl’s guest bedroom in his transfigured high heels - he was slowly getting the hang of it, if he might say so.

Hermione sighed, throwing him a pained look. “He wouldn’t do that,” she replied, though she didn’t seem too confident. “You know how Harry gets when he things don’t go his way. And especially when he thinks you’ll be in danger. But he’ll swallow it down and it will be fine.”

“I’ll remind you of that when he enacts his ‘five-year-old on a rampage’ act again,” Draco murmured, but he held in when the door opened and Luna stepped into the room. For a moment, he remained frozen, but when she just looked him up and down and said: “Nice shoes, Draco. They suit you!”, he relaxed.

“Thank you,” he nodded. “I’m feeling quite majestic myself.”

Hermione giggled and Luna walked to her side of the room to pick up a notebook Bill had given her a couple of days ago. Draco thought she used it for drawing. 

“We heard back from Muriel’s,” Luna told them absentmindedly. “Ollivander arrived, safe and sound.”

“That’s good news,” Draco said. “Any word on where they’re planning to put the four of you yet?” 

“Not as such,” Luna shook her head. “We can’t go home, obviously. The safe house your Mum is hiding at came up.”

“Sounds like a good solution,” Draco nodded. “I’m sure Mother and Ted would love the company.”

Luna smiled at him as she straightened up. “Well, I’m going back downstairs,” she announced. “I wanted to draw some Nargles for Killian. He wanted to know what they looked like.”

And with that, they were left to their own devices again, Draco with a smile on his face. “I’ll miss them once they’re gone,” he told Hermione, quite earnestly. “They’re good company.”

“It’s better for them to be far away from us, though,” Hermione reminded him. “We’re living targets.”

“I know,” Draco sighed. “But it’s nice, to have other people around to talk to, for a change.”

It was true, and he made good use of that while he could, whether it was lazing around with Yatin, indulging Luna’s idle chatter or having a pleasant conversation with Killian or Bill. Draco had never been very outgoing, but after having been isolated from society for so long, it was really  _ nice  _ to have people around again. So much so that he was secretly disappointed when their departure was decided upon. 

“You know,” Yatin told him in a quiet voice on their last evening together, as Killian and Luna led a loud game of Exploding Snap in the living room and the two of them hung back, watching. “I’d come along, if you’d let me. You wouldn’t even need to tell me what you were doing.”

Draco smiled at him. “I know you would,” he said. “But you can’t. It’s better if you wait things out somewhere safe.”

Yatin sighed, frowning. “Why do you get to throw yourself into danger and I get to hide?” Yatin demanded. “I’m older than you! It should be the other way around!”

“Because some stupid adults decided that’s how it’s supposed to be, and now we’re in over our heads,” Draco sighed, shrugging. “We don’t have a choice, Yatin. We can’t get out. But you can. If you really want to fight, talk to the Order about it. But you can’t fight with us. Not yet, at least. What we’re doing… We can’t take any more people.”

“You’re taking Griphook,” Yatin pointed out.

“He’s a means to an end,” Draco rolled his eyes. “We’ll part ways after we did what we intend to do.”

“Fine,” Yatin huffed. “But if you think I’ll idly sit in that safe house drinking tea with your mother, you’re wrong. I  _ will _ have a word with the Order. I want to be useful.”

“Do that,” Draco smiled. “I’m sure they can find a use for you.”

The next morning, they bid their goodbyes, and it was only them, Griphook and Bill and Fleur left in the house. It felt strangely empty though it was still overflowing, seeing that there still weren’t enough bedrooms to house them all. 

Weasley and Hermione decided, in quite a surprising move, to give the bedroom the girls had previously taken up to Harry and Draco. 

“It would be a waste for me to use a double bed alone,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “There are two perfectly fine sofas downstairs. Ron and I can sleep down there and Harry and you can get some privacy.”

So that’s what they did, though honestly, it wouldn’t be long until they, too, were going to leave Shell Cottage for good. Fleur was vehement to keep them put and wouldn’t hear anything about their departure whenever it was brought up but internally, they’d already decided upon a date within the next week. As soon as they had worked out the kinks of their plan with Griphook, which happened on a rainy Monday afternoon.

“Let’s go tomorrow,” Harry insisted, but Draco shook his head, stalling him. 

“The day after tomorrow,” he said. “No need to rush. We make mistakes when we rush. Give us one more day.”

Harry grumbled, but, most surprisingly, listened to him.

It was Tuesday night, when they were lounging together in the living room, Bill insisting on a nightcap together before they left the following morning, that they received an unexpected visitor. It had been a quiet, cosy atmosphere; Harry and Draco were snuggled up together on the smaller sofa, a thin blanket draped above them and Harry’s arm around Draco’s shoulder as Draco fought to keep his eyes open, too comfortable against Harry’s chest. 

He started when someone knocked on the front door. Bill was on his feet immediately, reaching for his wand. Griphook quietly slipped out of the room and up the stairs, quick to hide. 

“Who is it?” Bill called.

“It is I, Remus John Lupin!” Remus’ voice was to be heard through the thick wooden door. “I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, Secret Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me to come in an emergency!”

“Lupin,” Bill muttered and crossed the room to pull the door open. 

When Remus stumbled into the room, he was white-faced and for a moment, Draco suspected the worst, but then, he called, his voice wobbly: “It’s a boy!”

Draco’s heart stopped and then restarted. 

“We’ve named him Ted,” Remus continued, “after Dora’s father!”

“Wha -” Hermione was the first to react. “Tonks - Tonks has had the baby?”

“Yes, yes, she’s had the baby!” he shouted, and then, everyone was on their feet - there was an uproar of delirious shouts and a blur of hugs and then, Bill was handing out wine for celebration. 

At last, Remus slung an arm around each Harry and Draco’s shoulder, looking at them with red-rimmed eyes. “You’ll be godfathers?” he asked.

“M - me?” Harry stammered.

“You, yes, of course - Dora quite agrees, no one better than the two of you!”

“It would be an honour, Remus,” Draco beamed at him. 

“I - yeah - blimey -”

Remus laughed and pulled them both into a hug, then they toasted with the rest of them. It was the happiest Draco had been in forever, and from the faces of the others, it seemed like they all quite agreed with this assessment. Remus was practically glowing as he told them that their baby boy was already changing his hair colour like his mother, and it all seemed like something out of someone else’s life. 

As abruptly as Remus had appeared, though, he had to leave again. He took all their well-wishes for Dora with him and then, he swept off into the night again, leaving them reeling from the news. 

When Draco and Harry went to bed not long after, he still felt a strange mix between elated and numb from Remus’ visit. 

“Can you imagine that Remus and Dora are parents now?” Draco muttered after he had changed, climbing into bed with Harry. “It seems a little unreal, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t believe we’re godparents,” Harry replied, looking troubled. Then, he added: “I’m going to be just as reckless a godfather as Sirius was to me.”

“That’s -” Draco started, frowning. “Harry, no. You can’t think that way.”

Harry sighed, closing his eyes. Draco watched his face for a moment, then he cut the light and moved closer to him. 

For a long while, Harry didn’t say anything, and Draco thought they were going to go to sleep, but then, he murmured: “I can’t convince you to stay behind tomorrow?”

“You know the answer to that, Harry,” Draco sighed, feeling bone-deep tired suddenly.

“I do,” Harry breathed. He sounded resigned, Draco noted. “It was worth another attempt, though.”

“Was it?” Draco asked.

Harry brought his hand up to Draco’s hair, carding his fingers through it. “I have another question for you, then,” he continued.

“Should I be scared?” Draco drawled. 

“I… don’t know,” Harry frowned. “That depends on your answer, I guess.”

Draco shifted on his pillow so he could glance up at Harry. Through the curtains, just enough moonlight filtered in that he could make Harry’s eyes out clearly. 

“Fire away, then,” Draco said evenly.

Harry looked at him for a long moment, and then he whispered: “If we make it out of this war alive… will you marry me?”

Draco’s breath halted as he stared at Harry, eyes wide. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t that. 

“Draco,” Harry breathed, reaching out to cup Draco’s cheek with his hand, tracing the line of his jaw with his thumb. “I love you. More than anything. And I need to know that we have a future together. I need to have that - that hope, so that I have something to pull me through. It’s probably mental, and stupid, and -”

“Harry,” Draco cut him off, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Stop babbling. You don’t need to justify yourself. Not in front of me.”

“Oh,” Harry muttered, biting his lip. “So…”

Draco smiled at him. “Isn't it obvious?” he whispered. “Of course my answer is ‘yes’.”

Harry let out a breath bigger than himself and then, he was kissing him with everything he had. Draco wondered, absentmindedly, how long Harry had thought about asking, if he had ever expected Draco to say no. It seemed utterly ridiculous to Draco. 

Harry shifted their positions, sliding one of his pyjama-clad legs between Draco’s and moving until he was basically covering him. His hand slid into Draco’s hair, fisting it as he deepened the kiss. Draco reminded himself to breathe, but his heart was hammering and his lungs seemed to refuse to draw air as Harry’s tongue tangled with his, igniting every nerve in his body. 

***e***

Even though he had spent every day with Harry for the past half-year, they didn’t often touch each other this way, so every single time, it reduced Draco to a needy mess. It should be humiliating, the power Harry held over him, even after all this time they had been together, but instead, it felt exhilarating, to know that even through all the hard times, they had never lost this. 

Harry’s mouth parted from his only to sprinkle little kisses down his jaw to his throat. There, he tipped Draco’s head upwards for better access and leisurely licked at Draco’s Adam’s apple, making his bones melt with the sensation. Then, he moved further down to his collarbone, sucking wet kisses into his skin along the way. He lingered once on the spot where Draco knew the scar from Nagini’s attack was still visible, placing a soft kiss on it. 

“I want you,” Harry whispered, and there was desperation in his startling green eyes when he looked up at him once more. To enunciate his point, he rocked his groin against Draco, making him gasp when he felt the unmistakable line of Harry’s erection press against his hipbone. 

“You have me,” Draco breathed, fisting the back of Harry’s ugly pyjama top to keep some shred of control. “Always.”

Harry made some raw sound in the back of his throat and then he was kissing him again, messy and uninhibited, like he couldn’t help himself. Clumsy, trembling hands found the buttons of Draco’s own silk pyjamas and he unbuttoned them hastily, huffing in frustration against Draco’s lips when the fastening wouldn’t give away as quickly as he would have liked. When he was, at last, able to part the piece of clothing over Draco’s chest, Draco shrugged out of it and Harry impatiently discarded it onto the floor. 

He ran his hand over Draco’s body in a frenzied stupor, as if determined to take everything in. All the time, he was kissing and kissing Draco, and absently, Draco wondered if he would come apart under Harry’s attention. He knew what it was like to hurt so much that he felt close to cracking open - could the same happen from pleasure, he wondered?

And then, when Harry’s fingers seemed to have explored every dip and nook of his torso, they moved to the waistband of his trousers. He nibbled on Draco’s lower lip once more before he pulled away enough to allow him to shove the fabric down his legs. He went for his pants next, wasting no time, and Draco shimmied out of both, kicking them to the foot of the bed. He was left naked in front of a fully clothed Harry, who seemed to realise that miscalculation at that very same moment and began to rectify it, pulling his own pyjama shirt over his head. As he worked on his lower garments, Draco stared at his exposed chest, frowning at the large, round scar between his collarbones that was clearly visible even in the moonlight. 

“Hey,” Draco whispered, reaching out to trace a finger against the smooth, healed skin. Harry froze in the process of kicking off his trousers. “What is that?”

“Oh,” Harry said, blinking. “It’s from the time that locket tried to drown me?”

“I didn’t know it left a scar,” Draco breathed. 

Harry shrugged and continued removing his clothes, making them even in terms of nudity. When he was done, Draco leaned in to press a tender kiss to Harry’s chest, right on the scar. Harry took a shaky breath and carded his fingers through Draco’s hair, massaging his scalp as Draco’s lips lingered, kissing all over Harry’s chest and down to his stomach, making his breath hitch and his muscles tense in anticipation.

Before Draco could reach his straining erection, though, Harry’s fingers tightened in his hair and he was, gently but firmly, pulled backwards and guided back into the pillows. Harry then continued to kiss him hungrily, their bare groins rubbing against each other - a barely-there friction, not nearly enough. 

Harry’s hand then blindly grasped for the bedside table, since he was unwilling to stop kissing Draco, and then, his fingers closed around his wand. Finally, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking at Draco with a spark of nerves in his expression. 

“I know we haven’t -” he began, biting his lip. “But I want to. I really do.”

Draco looked at him for a long moment, trying to string his words together to the right conclusion. “You mean sex?” he clarified. 

“Well, yeah,” Harry shrugged, a little awkwardly. “I know we haven’t done much yet and we never really talked about -”

“Harry,” Draco interrupted him. “I told you before, and I’m telling you again: With you, I’m ready for anything.”  
  
Harry smiled at that, one of those tender smiles that were full of awe and love that made Draco feel all giddy and full. 

“Okay,” Harry nodded. “I’ll just - I’ll… get you ready, then? If that’s alright with you?”

“Sure,” Draco replied, trying not to feel awkward. “Do you know the spell to -”

“I do,” Harry said quickly. “Hermione and I had a talk in sixth year.”

That made Draco laugh, and it broke the tension between them. “Oh, you did, did you?” he chuckled. “I would have loved to see that.”

“Well, I wanted to be prepared!” Harry hissed defensively, a little flushed now. “I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of you!”

“Oh, because I was such an  _ expert _ on all sexual matters. Or Hermione, for that matter.”

“You and Hermione  _ read. _ You’re experts on  _ everything _ , as far as I’m concerned.”

Draco laughed again, and Harry poked him in the side with the lower end of his wand. 

“Are you done laughing at me?” Harry asked, his eyes narrowed. “Can I continue now?”

“By all means,” Draco grinned. “Proceed.”

Harry glared and charged in for another kiss, wiping the self-satisfied smirk off Draco’s face in a heartbeat. Draco lost track of how long they kissed until Harry broke away to move down Draco’s body, sprinkling a few sparse kisses along the way. He pressed his lips against Draco’s hipbone before he propped himself up on his elbows and pointed his wand to his right hand. He muttered the lubrication spell and Draco decided to close his eyes, his nerves choosing that moment to act up.

He trusted Harry, and he wanted this. That didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous.

Harry nudged his legs further apart and coaxed him to prop one leg up to give him better access. Then, Draco felt moist fingers caress his rim, and a shudder of pleasure went through him.

Draco had done this to himself, once or twice, but he had quickly given up because he hadn’t been patient enough to bring himself off that way. It was a lot of work for very little pay-off, since he never seemed to be quite able to hit the angle he needed to make it feel good. 

With Harry, though, it was a completely different matter. With Harry, the simple fact that the other boy was touching him made him already feel wonderful. Not to mention that he didn’t feel the rush he tended to feel while wanking - he wasn’t racing towards the finish line. They weren’t doing this to get off, per se. The intimacy was the main goal, and taking their time, therefore, didn’t seem like such a horrible thing.

And Harry seemed to agree with that estimation, for he took his time touching him. His lips found Draco’s erection, and he kissed and licked at it as he gently worked a finger into Draco, keeping him distracted from the uncomfortable stretch. By the time Harry had worked his finger in up to the second knuckle, he was leisurely sucking Draco’s prick, pulling off whenever Draco started to fist the sheets next to him. The fourth time he did that, Draco turned his face sideways into the pillow, whimpering - Harry had started working his second finger into him by that point and Draco felt so overstimulated that he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“You okay up there?” Harry asked, a smile in his voice.

“If you plan on spending your life with me, I’d suggest not killing me yourself,” Draco grumbled, his voice strained. 

“We haven’t even started yet,” Harry grinned. “I haven’t even -” and at that, Harry twisted his fingers, searching until they brushed a spot within Draco that made white pleasure spark within him. Draco gasped. “Aha!” Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to the tip of Draco’s erection. “There we go.”

“I - r-really… hope,” Draco brought out, with immense difficulty, “Hermione - didn’t… teach you…  _ that.” _

Harry froze, and when Draco opened his eyes to look down at him, his eyes were wide and his expression horrified. 

“No!” he spluttered. “Oh my god, what the hell, Draco?! I just asked her for spells, and she might have given me a book or two which I skimmed, but we didn’t - I would never - don’t plant images of a sex talk with Hermione in my head while we’re having sex! What’s wrong with you?!”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh, though he quickly stopped because the movement made him very aware of Harry’s fingers inside of him. “Just making sure,” he brought out.

“Why do I like you?” Harry moaned. “You’re impossible!”

“I’ve been told I’m very fanciable,” Draco snorted. “Don’t ask me. You’re the one who wants to put a ring on it.”

Harry smiled and pressed a kiss to his stomach. “I really do,” he breathed, his voice more gentle now. And like that, the mood shifted again, and Harry’s lips returned to Draco’s prick, and Harry’s fingers continued working him open.

Only when Harry had fit three fingers into him was he satisfied. He withdrew them to cast a protection charm onto both of them as well as another lubrication charm to coat his own as of yet neglected prick with. Then, he crawled up to align himself and press a kiss to Draco’s lips. 

“Are you ready?” he asked. 

Draco just caught his eyes and nodded. He could feel Harry’s tip press against his stretched rim and his heart was in his throat. Harry’s right hand caught his, entwining their fingers as he pressed Draco’s into the mattress. 

“We’ll go slow,” he murmured. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Draco nodded again. He felt like his voice wouldn’t come out right if he tried speaking. He leaned up for another kiss and was grateful when Harry got the message and met him halfway. 

Despite all the preparation, it did hurt when Harry finally started to enter him, but not enough to deter Draco. He kept Harry close enough to kiss, messing up the unruly hair beyond hope with his grabby fingers, and when Harry bottomed out, he leaned his forehead against Draco’s, dingy glasses digging into Draco’s eyebrows.

“Okay?” he gasped out.

Again, Draco nodded. He caught his lips in another kiss. Harry moaned into it and started moving. 

Draco had thought a lot about sex with Harry. He had wanted it, of course, but he had decided never to push for it because, ultimately, he’d always felt that the intimacy they shared was not primarily sexual. Yes, Draco was attracted to Harry and he wanted to touch him, had always felt the need to touch him, but they had been intimate before they had been together, and with everything that had happened these past few months, Draco had learned to rely on other forms of intimacy more than sex: The touch of a hand. A hug, or even a kiss. A glance that needed no words. 

But now that it was happening, it felt so incredibly good to be with Harry like this - not like something had been missing, because that would have insinuated that things had somehow been insufficient in their relationship without sex, but rather, this felt like a further step down the road of their relationship. Another tapestry in the corridor. Another way to feel close to Harry, and right now, with Harry moving inside of him and Harry staring into his eyes, he felt incredibly connected to him, like all barriers between them were being torn down and all that was left were the two of them, united in this bed. 

They were clumsy and inexperienced - it took them a while to establish a proper rhythm and then, they lost it again and had to start over. When Harry first brushed Draco’s prostate, Draco jerked so violently that Harry thought he’d hurt him and stopped entirely. But they made it work eventually - with a lot of whispered suggestions, they figured it out together, and then, it felt so good that Draco had to stifle his moans of pleasure against Harry’s throat. 

“I’m close,” Harry gasped out, his hand grasping Draco’s so tightly it almost hurt. 

“It’s okay,” Draco breathed. “Let go.”  
  
Draco wasn’t quite there yet, but he really wanted to watch Harry come inside of him, so he let his head fall back onto the pillow and let his eyes wander over Harry’s face as he picked up his speed and finally lost his rhythm, reaching his climax. Draco’s name fell from his lips as he came, spilling inside of Draco in a few final thrusts. He collapsed onto him, letting the taller boy envelop him in a tight hug as he tried to catch his breath.

They lay there for a while, Draco still hard but patient, stroking Harry’s hair as the other came down from his high. 

“Wow,” he gasped out, eventually. “Just… wow.” Draco grinned, not responding. At last, Harry looked up, frowning. “You didn’t…?”

“Nope,” Draco admitted, a little sheepishly. “I loved it, though. Maybe we could, just -”

Draco was going to suggest for Harry to touch him, but Harry was already moving down his body, resuming the position he had taken when he’d prepared him. 

“It’s okay,” Harry grinned. “I’ve got you.” 

And then, he worked his fingers back into Draco, and sucked his straining prick into his mouth. Draco gasped, closing his eyes as Harry’s fingers purposefully brushed over his prostate. 

It didn’t take long at all, after that. 

***/e/***

When Draco’s breathing had slowly returned to normal, he gingerly stretched out in Harry’s arms, smiling as he received a kiss on his forehead in return.

“You alright?” Harry whispered. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”

“I’m perfect,” Draco stressed. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Good,” Harry smiled. Then, after a beat: “We should probably sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Right,” Draco huffed. “Gringotts.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” Harry breathed. He pressed another kiss to Draco’s temple, and whispered: “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Draco smiled against Harry’s shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex Scene: Harry and Draco have penetrative sex for the first time. Harry reveals that he had a sort of "sex talk" with Hermione in sixth year asking her for information on protective spells because "she reads" and he didn't want to look a fool in front of Draco. Draco sees Harry's scar from when the locket tried to drown him for the first time.


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Goblins and Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with our famed bank heist! Not going to waste any time talking - hope you'll enjoy it! :)

The next morning, it took an enormous effort to get out of bed - not only was it ridiculously early, but he felt too content wrapped up in Harry’s embrace, and leaving the safety of their bed seemed like insanity.

But they had a plan, and they couldn’t hide away forever, no matter how much Draco might have wanted to.

So they got up and got ready - Harry in normal clothing, throwing frowns at Draco as he laid out his Bellatrix outfit and took out the potion. 

“I hate this,” Harry whispered.

“I know you do,” Draco smiled at him, leaning in to kiss him softly. “But we agreed that this is the best solution.”

“You agreed,” Harry grumbled. “You just made me go along.”

“Well, welcome to my world,” Draco quipped, uncorking the bottle of Polyjuice and tipping in Bellatrix’s hair. “Cheers,” he said, lifting the bottle into Harry’s direction before taking a mouthful. 

Draco would  _ never _ get used to the sensation of transforming with Polyjuice. Not to mention his aunt tasted repulsive - like something rotten, and it made him gag. He felt his bones shrink under hot pain, his skin pull together, his hair grow and curl, all in the way it was supposed to, and when it stopped, he glanced at the mirror, staring back at the image of Bellatrix Lestrange in his own oversized pyjamas. 

“I  _ really _ hate this,” Harry noted. 

Draco rolled his eyes and started to get dressed.

Hermione, Weasley and Griphook were waiting for him out in the garden, impatient and nervous. Both Hermione and Weasley had altered their appearances with the help of magic: Hermione’s hair was smooth and black, pulled back into a tight knot; she wore glasses, her eyes were ice blue and her facial features were much sharper. Weasley’s hair was brown, thick and wavy; he had a beard, was free of freckles and his features, too, were unrecognizable. 

“Wow, Malfoy, you look hideous,” Weasley muttered, making a face.

“Thank you,” Draco returned in a monotone. His voice was that of his aunt’s, naturally, and he had to make sure to use her inflexions when impersonating her. “So, do we have everything?”

“I’ve got the new tent from Bill, and all our things are packed,” Hermione nodded. “Do you have Bellatrix’s wand, Draco?”

“I do,” he nodded, pulling it out of his dress pocket to show her. His own was tucked away in his wrist holster, disguised by a concealment charm. He knew it was a risk - if they found it on him, he would be exposed - but he couldn’t bring himself to hand it over.

“Good,” she nodded. “Let’s get Harry and Griphook under the Cloak, make sure they are well-hidden.”

Griphook climbed Harry’s shoulders and Hermione proceeded to cover Harry with the cloak, fussing until no part of them was visible. 

“Perfect,” she announced, stepping back. “I can’t see a thing. Let’s go.”

They apparated to the Leaky Cauldron, which was nearly deserted upon their arrival. Tom, the innkeeper, startled at the sight of Draco.

“Madam Lestrange,” he muttered, bowing his head slightly. 

Draco ignored him. His aunt would consider people like Tom beyond her station; she wouldn’t talk to them unless it was to threaten. And indeed, Tom seemed unphased by Draco’s reaction - if anything, he seemed relieved that Draco was moving on without much fuss. 

Draco pushed on, keeping his head held high, trying to exude all the superiority he could muster. He could only hope the others were following him because he could not turn and check. His aunt was not a considerate person.

Draco tapped Bellatrix’s wand against the stone wall behind the Leaky Cauldron, watching it give away to form the entrance of Diagon Alley. The shopping area, though, looked nothing like he’d once known it. It was quiet and deserted, only a few stray shoppers and beggars on the streets. Only a few shops were open and all others were boarded up or had had their store displays destroyed. 'Wanted' posters were put up all over the place, most of them with Harry’s face on them.

Draco made a conscious effort to appear unshaken. He stepped out with purpose, ignoring the beggars to his left and right, asking for coins or assuring him that they were indeed wizards, that the Ministry had made a mistake. Eventually, a man with a bloody bandage stepped into his path, yelling: “My children! Where are my children?”

Draco froze, quick to school his face into an expression of disgust as the man yelled on. He clung to Bellatrix’s wand, training it onto the man.

“Step out of the way,” he told the man, forcing a cruel smile to curl across his lips. “Or you’ll never see your children again, I’ll make sure of that.”

The man let out a sound of despair and lunged at him, but before he could get near him, two stunning spells had hit him right into his chest. He looked around to see both Hermione and Weasley with their wands outstretched.

Draco huffed, forcing himself to stay in character. “I could have handled it,” he said, turning back to look down at the now unconscious man in disgust. “Riff-raff. As if a wandless  _ Mudblood _ could ever hurt me.”

He was aware that they had drawn attention to themselves. This was inconvenient; they hadn’t planned on making a scene. Now, people we staring. And indeed, someone was approaching them - with a friendly, but calculated: “Why, Madam Lestrange!”, a tall wizard with bushy grey hair addressed him.

Draco recognised him: It was Travers. He was a Death Eater. Draco let a small smile spread over his face.

“Travers,” he greeted him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I merely sought to greet you,” Travers smiled at him, scanning his face curiously. “I confess, I am surprised to see you out and about, Bellatrix.”

“And why would that be?” Draco asked, letting a note of contempt colour his voice.

“Well,” Travers coughed. “I  _ heard _ that the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the… ah…  _ escape.” _

Unease uncoiled in Draco’s chest, but he let none of it show on his face or in his voice. 

“You didn’t  _ really _ think the punishment applied to me of all people, Travers?” Bellatrix scoffed. “How cute. The Dark Lord knows exactly who is the most loyal to him. I must say my dear brother-in-law isn’t as lucky, but what can you expect, with a son and wife who deserted the cause?”

“Well, she was your sister, too,” Travers pointed out. He flinched when Draco pulled Bellatrix’s wand and directed it at Travers. 

“That woman is no sister of mine,” he said dangerously. “Don’t you dare insinuate anything, Travers.”

“Understood,” Travers returned, gulping when Draco stepped back, pocketing the wand again. “Whose wand are you using at the moment, by the way? I heard your own was taken.”

Draco’s heart fell. Instinctively, he abandoned Bellatrix’s wand in the pocket and discreetly shook his hand out, making his own wand fall out of his wrist-holster and into his palm. He pretended to reach into his pocket, as if to retrieve it, and showed it to Travers.

“This used to be my nephew's,” he said, colouring his voice in amusement. “We took it from him, and they left it behind. I’m putting it to proper use now.”

“I see,” Travers nodded, accepting the explanation. His gaze wandered to the unconscious man on the ground. “How did it offend you?”

They chatted about the ‘Wandless’ for a while, and Draco did his best not to slip up, to pretend like he knew what he was doing. His upbringing did indeed come in handy here; it was a good thing that it was him doing this, and not Hermione. Travers enquired about Hermione and Weasley, and he introduced them as a couple from Transylvania, sympathisers of the Dark Lord with poor English skills. Eventually, he asked Draco what he was doing in Diagon Alley.

“I need to visit my vault,” he said.

“Alas, I also,” Travers replied, much to Draco’s dismay. “Gold, filthy gold! We cannot live without it, yet I confess I deplore the necessity of consorting with our long-fingered friends.” Draco forced out a high-pitched laugh. “Shall we?” Travers suggested, gesturing towards the wizarding bank down the street, and Draco had no choice but to fall into step with him.

This was bad. Not only was he now accompanied by a Death Eater; apparently, it was also a known fact that Bellatrix’s wand had been stolen. Would the goblins know? He couldn’t risk showing her wand if they asked for identification. But Bellatrix’s wand was the only identification they’d had to offer. They’d built their plan around it. If they couldn’t offer that up…

He wished he could talk to Harry, but Travers was still chatting him up, and it was all he could do to keep the conversation going as they approached the wizarding bank. As Griphook had warned them, two wizards were awaiting them at the entrance, both of them holding up thin, golden rods. 

“Ah, Probity Probes,” Travers sighed, “so crude - but effective!”

He stepped up, nodding at the wizards in greeting before letting the wizards pass the Probes up and down his body to detect spells of concealment or magical objects. Draco hesitated, lingering behind. He really hoped Harry had him covered. 

He needn’t have worried: The moment Travers had stepped through, both wizards started, frowning in confusion. Draco took this as his cue, stepping up to pass them.

“One moment, Madam,” one of them said, raising his Probe. 

“But you already did that!” Draco snapped. 

Travers turned back around, eyebrows raised. The guard looked visibly confused. He looked at his companion for help, who eventually answered: “Yeah, you’ve just checked them, Marius.”

With an annoyed huff, Draco pushed forward, Hermione and Weasley at his heels. Silently, he thanked Harry for his effective spellwork.

They caught up with Travers and together, they found a free goblin to serve them. Draco allowed Travers to step ahead, pretending to play the begrudging tour-guide to Hermione and Weasley while he waited; he hoped that Travers would be gone by the time it was his turn.

No such luck, though - Travers took merely half a minute to show the goblin his key, which was promptly examined and returned before Draco was called forward. Keeping his expression haughty and determined, he stepped up. 

“I wish to enter my vault,” he announced.

“Madam Lestrange,” the goblin murmured, evidently startled. “You have… identification?”

_ Merlin’s saggy balls. _

“Identification?” he repeated, his tone poisonous. “I hardly think that will be necessary.”

“Your wand will do, Madam,” the goblin insisted, holding out a trembling hand. 

They knew. Draco knew that they knew. He couldn’t show Bellatrix’s wand; he had no choice but showing his own, but if they had been warned by the Dark Lord himself, they would most probably know that that one had  _ not _ been left behind. Either way, he was screwed. 

“This is an outrage!” Draco hissed. “I’ve never been asked for identification before! And now - after you very well  _ know _ I just lost my wand -”

“That’s exactly why we need to ask, Madam. I’m sure you understand,” the goblin continued.

Draco knew he had no choice. Travers was watching from the side, and any further resistance would make him suspicious. Jerkily, Draco drew out his own wand, presenting it to the goblin. 

He braced himself for the explosion, but suddenly, the goblin’s expression became blank, and a pleasant smile spread across his face.

“Very well, Madam Lestrange. I am sorry for the inconvenience.”

Stunned, Draco drew his wand back again. What in Merlin’s name was happening?

The goblin clapped his hands and a younger goblin appeared at his side. 

“I shall need the Clankers,” he announced, causing the younger goblin to hurry off and reappear with a leather bag that made clattering sounds at every tiny movement. “Good, good! So, if you will follow me, Madam Lestrange,” the older goblin continued. “I shall take you to your vault.”

“What about me?” Travers asked, sounding exasperated. 

“Gigmut will take you,” he announced, nodding to the younger goblin, who stood straight in command. “Now, if you’ll excuse me -”

“Wait - Bogrod!” Another goblin approached them in a hurry, eyes wide as he glanced at Draco, and Draco knew this couldn’t mean anything good. “We have instructions,” he said, bowing to Draco, “forgive me, Madam Lestrange, but there have been special orders regarding the vault of Lestrange.”

He turned to Bogrod to whisper into his ear, only to be shaken off impatiently. 

“I am aware of the instructions,” Bogrod announced. “Madam Lestrange wishes to visit her vault… very old family… old clients… this way, please…”

Draco had no idea what was happening, but he knew better than to ask or show his confusion any other way. Instead, he just followed Bogrod’s lead, Hermione and Weasley on his heels. 

They left the entrance hall through a side door and followed a torched passageway. Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, startling Draco. Bogrod did not blink.

“We’re in trouble, they suspect,” Griphook announced, jumping down from Harry’s shoulders.

“He’s Imperiused,” Harry explained, at Draco’s confused look. “I don’t think I did it strongly enough, I don’t know…”

“What do we do?” Weasley asked. “Shall we get out now, while we can?”

“ _ If _ we can,” Hermione pointed out, looking back towards the door. 

“We’ve got this far, I say we go on,” Harry shook his head. 

“Good,” Griphook nodded. “So, we need Bogrod to control the cart; I no longer have the authority.”

Harry pointed his wand at Bogrod and made him summon the card; when it appeared on the tracks, stopping in front of them, they climbed inside. Once they were seated, they took off, quickly gathering speed, and Harry reached out for his hand, entwining their fingers.

“You were breathtaking out there,” Harry whispered. “You were right. You were the best person for the job.”

“I don’t know how I feel about the fact that I did a good job at being my aunt,” Draco muttered. Harry squeezed his hand, and then the cart made a sharp turn and Draco was flung into his side. 

Next, they were driving headfirst into a waterfall pounding over the track, and Draco heard Griphook shout: “No!” before they sped right through the water. The cart lurched and flipped and they were thrown out; Draco’s insides squirmed and he felt his extremities stretch - but he could only yell as they fell, his mind too occupied with the sensation of his body changing and falling to do anything to save them.

Then, they slowed down, softly gliding towards the ground. Distantly, he could appreciate Hermione’s quick thinking, but his insides still felt like snakes as he transformed back into himself. When they touched the grounds, he was back in his own body, high heels lost somewhere during the fall and the dress hanging loosely off his frame underneath too narrow robes. 

“Really?” Draco gasped out. 

Weasley snorted. Draco glared at him. Harry shrugged off his hoodie and handed it to Draco, not caring that it left him only in a T-shirt. Draco accepted it gratefully, discarding the robes in favour of the hoodie - still a bit tight, but much more covering.

He realised that Hermione and Weasley were also back to their own appearances. “The Thief’s Downfall!” Griphook explained, “it washes away all enchantment, all magical concealment! They know there are impostors in Gringotts, they have set off defences against us!”

In their midst, Bogrod got to his feet, shaking his head in bewilderment; Draco immediately realised that the Imperius Curse must have been lifted, too,

“We need him!” Griphook called. “We cannot enter the vault without a Gringotts goblin. And we need the Clankers!”

Quickly, Harry pointed his wand at Bogrod and said:  _ “Imperio!”  _ Draco shivered when the goblin’s expression became blank again. It was different, seeing Harry use that spell.

Griphook then led the way down the tunnels where the high-security vaults of the old pureblood families were placed. Draco knew the location - after all, the Malfoy vault was nearby - but he couldn’t have found his way there if he tried, the tunnels too dark and confusing. Eventually, though, they turned a corner and came face to face with the dragon guarding the vaults. He could hear his friends gasp, though he was less surprised at the view. Mind you, he had not much considered the dragon in the past years; growing up, it had been part of the Gringotts experience, but only after becoming friends with Harry, Hermione and especially Hagrid, he'd begun to consider the cruelty of how this particular dragon was kept, mistreated and used. After, he had tried not to remember its existence if he could help it. 

Now, though, the poor creature stared back at them, shrinking back when it heard the noise of the Clankers, quivering in fear, and that was hard to ignore. He could feel Hermione’s agitation at his back. 

Eventually, they reached the Lestrange vault. Harry made Bogrod press his hand to the door, and it opened to reveal the entrance to the cave-like vault, filled with mountains of gold and treasure. 

Harry made to step inside hastily. Draco put a hand on his arm. 

“Wait,” he breathed. “There might be enchantments.”

“Very good,” Griphook said grimly. “Don’t touch anything, just to be safe.”

Carefully, they stepped inside, one by one. Draco sent a  _ Lumos Maxima _ into the vault, lightning it up completely. He looked out for the cup, careful not to come into contact with a single object.

The vault was piled with treasure: gold as far as the eye could reach, jewellery, and, of course, different varieties of gold and silver cups, because their lives could never be that easy. 

“Harry,” Hermione said, reaching out for the nearest of such cups, “could this be -”

“Don’t touch!” Draco hissed, rounding on her, and she shrunk back, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m serious, Hermione! Listen to me for once in your life!”

They did, to their credit, and soon, Harry gasped, pointing to the far side of the vault. 

“It’s there, up there!” he called.

And then, Draco saw it: Up on the top shelf, as far away from them as it could possibly be, with tons of other treasure blocking their way. Draco cursed.

“So, how do we get up there now, Malfoy?” Weasley asked conversationally.

Draco gave him an indignant look. Meanwhile, Hermione tried to summon the cup - quite pointlessly, of course, as Griphook immediately pointed out. Harry, in his frustration, proceeded to turn on the goblin, snarling at him: “If you want the sword, Griphook, then you’ll have to help us more than - wait! Can I touch stuff with the sword? Hermione, give it here!”

And so, Hermione drew the sword out of her beaded bag and handed it to Harry, who carefully touched the blade to the nearest goblet, drawing it through the handle and pulling it up.

Nothing happened. They all breathed out in relief, and Draco drew his wand, pointing it at the sword in determination.

“Don’t move, Harry,” he warned before shooting a well-placed levitation-charm. Then, he proceeded to lead the sword across the room and up towards the shelf. He needed some focus to get the blade through the handle, and his hand was shaking, but eventually, after taking a couple of deep breaths, he managed to aim right and lift the sword  _ and  _ the cup off the shelf towards them. Draco caught the sword handle in his hand, the cup still attached to the blade.

“Okay,” Weasley blurted out, “that was sort of cool.”

“Why, thank you, Weasley,” Draco raised his eyebrows. 

“We need to get out of here,” Hermione breathed, looking over her shoulder.

“But how?” Draco asked. “They know we’re here, they’ll have all exits sealed!”

“The dragon,” Harry muttered, making Draco freeze. 

“Excuse me,” Draco breathed. “You don’t mean -”

“Follow me,” Harry interrupted him, and then, he was leading them out of the vault and back into the hallway where the dragon was bound. It heard them approach and let out a roar - Hermione sent out a shield charm to keep them safe. 

“Draco,” Harry hissed. “Give me the sword.”

Draco sighed. He asked Hermione to open her bag so he could let the Horcrux drop into it. Then, he handed him the sword. Harry promptly proceeded to use it to untether the dragon’s bindings, and soon, the creature was free. 

“Right,” Harry panted, looking at him. “This is our ticket out of here.”

“You want us to ride a dragon out of Gringotts?” Draco asked faintly.

“You have a better idea?” Harry shot back.

Draco shrugged because indeed, he hadn’t. That did  _ not  _ mean, though, that he approved.

“Not so fast!” Griphook injected. “You’re not leaving with the sword! We had a deal!”

Harry looked at them, and Draco sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Oh, bloody hell. These Gryffindors were going to kill him.

“Give him the bloody sword,” he muttered. “I think I have another way of destroying that Horcrux.”

“You  _ think _ ?” Harry asked, his voice high.

“I’m pretty positive,” Draco sighed. “T rust  _ me, _ for a change.  I thought you were all about taking leaps of faith?”

"I always trust you," Harry muttered petulantly. His face was still sour when he handed over the sword, but hand it over, he did.

“Come on,” he muttered, turning to the dragon. “We have no time to lose.”

And indeed, they could already hear the sound of people approaching through the tunnels, so Draco hurriedly picked up one of the clankers and rattled, making the dragon shrink in on himself. It made his heart bleed a little, but they had no bloody  _ time _ . The expression Hermione threw him was murderous.

“Get on!” Draco hissed. “Now!”

And so, they got onto the cowering dragon’s back one after the other, Draco last. When he was gripping onto the slippery scales tightly, he dropped the Clankers. 

“Right,” he muttered. “Now it just needs to get a move on!”

Very helpfully, Weasley gave it a kick. That had the dragon shifting and roaring, and then, it realised that it was free of its confines. Immediately, it stretched out and started to lift itself up. Draco clung on with all his might, closing his eyes.

And then, they were flying through the tunnels, past goblins and wizards trying to come after them. They sent out blasting spells to help the dragon's progress to freedom, making sure it found its way towards the sky. 

Eventually, they’d made their way to the marble entrance hall, and all Draco could see and hear was a mess of screaming goblins and wizards trying to shoot spells at them, but nothing connected. The dragon was on a mission: It had smelled the fresh air through the entrance doors and was making its way towards them and then, they were bursting through the doors towards Diagon Alley, where the dragon took back off into flight.

And that was how he watched the Wizarding Shopping Street grow progressively smaller and smaller, as it sunk in with each inch they rose up into the air that they had  _ done _ it. They had broken into Gringotts, retrieved the Horcrux and gotten away with it.

Somewhere, someone must really be watching out for them.


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Back To Hogwarts, At Long Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... And so the final battle begins. I hope you are ready for the ride, my loyal readers :)

“Well,” Draco said, finally getting out of that hideous, soaking dress and into dry clothes after they had dropped off the dragons back and into a mountain lake. Said dragon was now resting on the other side of the shore. “That wasn’t quite as inconspicuous as we’d hoped for.”

“You think?” Weasley snorted.

“He’ll know, won’t he?” Harry sighed, getting into his own dry sweater. “You-Know-Who will know we know about his Horcruxes.”

“Maybe they’ll be too afraid to tell him?” Weasley shrugged, sounding hopeful. “Maybe they’ll cover it up. It would give us more time.”

“They didn’t cover up the incident at Malfoy Manor,” Hermione reminded him, wringing out her hair. “I really don’t think they’d dare to keep something of such importance from him.”

Draco’s eyes, though, had narrowed in on Harry. He had suddenly paled and his eyes had turned unseeing. Then, he seemed to sag in on himself, and Draco had just enough time to sling an arm around him to keep him from sinking to the floor.

“Harry?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, panicked. 

“Is he seeing something?” Weasley added. 

“I’m pretty sure he is,” Draco confirmed, trying to stay level-headed, though it was difficult, with Harry twitching in his arms, mumbling incoherent words. It went on for a long, long while and when those green eyes finally opened again, they were wide in fear.

“He knows,” he told them. “He knows, and he’s going to check where the others are, and the last one,” he was pushing to his feet, disentangling himself from Draco’s embrace, “is at Hogwarts. I knew it. I  _ knew  _ it.”

Draco stared at him, his heart racing.

“What?” Weasley asked, gaping.

“But what did you see? How do you know?” Hermione asked.

“I saw him find out about the cup, I - I was in his head, he’s -” Harry gulped, “he’s seriously angry, and scared, too, he can’t understand how we knew, and now he’s going to check the others are safe, the ring first. He thinks the Hogwarts one is safest, because Snape’s there, because it’ll be so hard not to be seen getting in, I think he’ll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours -”

“Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?” Weasley asked.

“No, he was concentrating on warning Snape, he didn’t think about exactly where it is -”

And then, much to Draco’s distress, the two of them were picking up their things, clearly ready to disapparate on the spot. 

“Wait,  _ wait!” _ Hermione called. “We can’t just  _ go _ , we haven’t got a plan, we need to -”

“We need to get going!” Harry argued, his tone heated. “Can you imagine what he’s going to do once he realises the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn’t safe?”

Draco cursed. “You’re right,” he whispered. “But we don’t know where it is, or what it is, or how to even get into the castle -”

“We’ll go to Hogsmeade,” Harry picked up his last, more practical point, “and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school’s like. Get under the Cloak, all of you!”

“But we don’t really fit -”

“It’ll be dark, no one’s going to notice our feet!”

This was complete madness, Draco knew it was. But he also knew they had no choice. It was now or never, and he  _ hated _ situations like these, hated when they had to act in a split second without a plan or time for preparation - this was the strength of the Gryffindors, not his - but this time, there was really no other way. 

So he held onto the others and screwed his eyes shut as the pull of the apparition tore him from the mountainside towards their old school.

Their appearance at Hogsmeade was accompanied by an ear-splitting scream; Draco knew immediately that they must have tripped some sort of alarm. They stood, shell-shocked, on the main street as the door to the Three Broomstick burst open and Death Eaters burst out, wands raised.

“ _ Accio Cloak!”  _ one called.

Harry made an attempt to hold onto the material of their Invisibility Cloak, but it did not move; obviously, it could not be summoned.

“Not under your wrapper then, Potter?” the Death Eater called. “Spread out. He’s here.”

The four of them stumbled into the nearest side-street and a couple of Death Eaters barrelled past them. They stood, shell-shocked, for a few long moments, listening to the Death Eaters searching.

“Let’s just leave!” Hermione whispered. “Disapparate now!”

“Great idea,” Weasley agreed.

“They were ready for us,” Harry argued. “They set up that spell to tell them we’d come. I reckon they’ve done something to keep us here, trap us -”

The Death Eaters then started shouting about Dementors, and Draco’s hand found Harry’s wrist, tightening around it. “We have to do something,” he whispered, panicked. “Dementors will find us, Harry, and a Patronus will give us away!”

Their eyes met for a long moment and then, the air around them started to grow cold. Harry hesitated and then, he drew his wand. Draco pushed his hand down and shook out his own wand.

His Patronus was less recognisable. He focused his thoughts, tried to pull forward how he had felt when Harry had asked to marry him and cast. 

His arctic fox burst forward and tore down the street to go for the approaching Dementors. Someone shouted: “There! Down there! I can see something!”

“We have to move,” Hermione breathed.

Just then, a door on their left side opened, and from the shadows, someone hissed: “Potter, in here, quick!”

Draco hesitated, but Harry moved immediately, pulling Draco and the others along. They hurried through the open doorway, past a tall, old man Draco only caught glimpses of. 

“Upstairs, keep the Cloak on, keep quiet!” the man ordered, and they obeyed. They were inside the Hog’s Head, Draco realised, as they moved further into the house. They made their way behind the counter and through a second doorway, up the stairs, which led them into the private rooms of their saviour, who appeared to be the old keeper of the pub. 

They heard shouting from down on the street - the barman and the Death Eaters. 

“He’s covering for us,” Weasley whispered.

Draco shushed him. They tiptoed over towards the dirty window, carefully peeking out towards the street, watching as the barkeeper convinced the Death Eaters that he had set off the alarm by releasing his cat and that it was his Patronus they had spotted. Eventually, they relented, much to their relief. They retreated towards the High Street and the barman returned to the Pub, closing the door behind himself and bolting it. 

Hermione moaned in relief. She dove out from under the Cloak and collapsed on a chair. Harry drew the curtains shut before pulling the Cloak off the three of them. 

The barman was climbing up the stairs and finally, he entered the room, looking far from pleased. “You bloody fools,” he scolded. “What were you thinking, coming here?”

“Thank you,” Harry said. “We can’t thank you enough. You saved our lives.” There was nothing but a grunt in response. Harry approached him, an intense look on his face. “It’s your eye I’ve been seeing in the mirror?”

Draco blinked, not sure what Harry was referring to. The mirror? What mirror? Which eye?

“You sent Dobby,” Harry continued, and it took a few moments but then, the pieces fell together. 

Malfoy Manor.

“I did,” the barman huffed. “And not a moment too late, by the sound of it.” He looked over to Draco, who stood a little straighter under the scrutiny. His gaze travelled back to Harry, though, when he found no outer traces of his maltreatment. 

“You’re Aberforth,” Harry muttered.

Draco blinked, looking at the barman more closely. He’d never have made the connection, not with how unkempt and filthy he looked, but there was something in his eyes that indeed reminded him of Dumbledore.

“How did you get this?” Harry asked, crossing the room towards where a small, rectangular mirror was propped up on the mantelpiece, beneath the portrait of a girl.

“Bought it from Dung ‘bout a year ago,” Aberforth shrugged. “Albus told me what it was. Been trying to keep an eye out for you.”

Weasley gasped. “The silver doe!” he called. “Was it you?” 

"What?" he grunted, eyes narrowing.

“Someone sent a doe Patronus to us!” 

“My Patronus is a goat,” he shook his head. 

Silence followed his words, only interrupted by the loud rumbling of Weasley’s stomach. “Come on, I’ve got food,” Aberforth said. He slipped from the room and appeared a moment later with bread, cheese and mead, which they devoured hungrily. Once they were done, Aberforth started discussing how to best get them out of Hogsmeade, but Harry quickly cut him off.

“We’re not leaving,” he said. “We need to get into Hogwarts.”

“Don’t be stupid, boy,” Aberforth growled.

“We’ve got to,” Harry argued.

“What you’ve got to is to get as for away from here as possible.”

“You don’t understand. There isn’t much time. We’ve got to get to the castle. Dumbledore - I mean, your brother - wanted us -”

“My brother Albus wanted a lot of things,” Aberforth interrupted, his tone sour, “and people had a habit of getting hurt while he was carrying out his grand plans. You get away from this school, Potter, and out of the country if you can. Forget my brother and his clever schemes. He’s gone where none of this can hurt him, and you don’t owe him anything.”

Draco stared at him. A part of him, the part of him that was selfish and loved Harry more than anything, wanted to listen to him. He wanted to grab Harry and run.

But he knew that Harry would never go for it, and he was proven right. 

“You don’t understand,” Harry said.

“Oh, don’t I?” Aberforth challenged. “You don’t think I understood my own brother? Think you knew Albus better than I did?”

“I didn’t mean that,” Harry muttered, making a face. “It’s… he left me a job.”

“Did he, now?” Aberforth scoffed. “Nice job, I hope? Pleasant? Easy? Sort of thing you’d expect an unqualified wizard kid to be able to do without overstretching themselves?” 

Weasley laughed grimly. Even Draco had to smile.

“I - it’s not easy, no -” Harry began. “But I’ve got to -”

“‘Got to’? Why ‘got to’? He’s dead, isn’t he? Let it go, boy, before you follow him! Save yourself!”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Aberforth,” Draco sighed, cutting in with a shake of his head. “We might not have known your brother very well, but you don’t know Harry. Harry isn’t doing this because of Dumbledore. He is doing this because it’s the best shot we have at destroying the Dark Lord, and he won’t rest until that happens. That’s how he is, or how he’s been formed, or maybe both, I don’t know. Fact is, no matter what you or I say, he won’t let this go.”

Aberforth looked at him, long and hard, and there was a heavy silence between them. 

“He’s right,” Harry nodded, though he shot Draco a small glare, possibly for the insinuation that he had been bred into the bullhead he was. “I won’t give in. Your brother knew how to finish You-Know-Who, and he passed the knowledge on to me. I’m going to keep going until I succeed - or I die. Don’t think I don’t know how this might end. I’ve known it for years.”

Draco’s fingers balled into a fist but he tried not to let his emotions show on his face. It wouldn’t do, not when they were trying to negotiate with Aberforth. 

“We need to get into Hogwarts,” Harry repeated. “If you can’t help us, we’ll wait ‘til daybreak, leave you in peace and try to find a way in ourselves. If you  _ can _ help us - well, now would be a great time to mention it.”

For a moment, Aberforth said nothing, just looking at them, his expression blank. Draco’s heart sank. But then, he cleared his throat, stood and approached the portrait of the girl Draco had noticed earlier.

His voice was gentle when he spoke to it. “You know what to do,” he said.

She smiled, turned and walked away, not out of the portrait but down a long tunnel that was painted into the background. Draco stared, intrigued.

“Mr Dumbledore?” Hermione said carefully. “Is that your sister? Ariana?”

“Yes,” Aberforth sighed tiredly. “She was another person my brother claimed to care about who ended up dead while she was under his care. And all because of his misjudgements and grand plans.”

Draco gulped, unsure what to say. The things he had read in Skeeter’s book came back to him - Dumbledore’s correspondence with Grindelwald, Dumbledore signing his name with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, which was later associated further with Grindelwald. He wanted to ask but refrained from doing so. 

“There is only one way in, now,” Aberforth said, at last, cutting through the heavy silence. “You must know they’ve got all the old secret passageways covered at both ends, Dementors all around the boundary walls, regular patrols inside the school from what my sources tell me. The place has never been so heavily guarded. How you expect to do anything once you get inside it, with Snape in charge and the Carrows as his Deputies… well, that’s your lookout, isn’t it? You say you’re prepared to die.”

“But what…?” Hermione asked, frowning at Ariana’s picture.

She had reappeared at the end of the tunnel, but she wasn’t alone. Someone was at her side, and it took a while for them to recognise who it was. They stared as the figures grew bigger and bigger on the canvas and then, Weasley gasped as it became clear who was approaching them.

Neville Longbottom.

The portrait swung open, revealing a passageway, and Neville stepped out with a huge smile on his bruised face. He looked horrible, truth be told: Not only was he clearly hurt, but his clothes were also torn and he was in desperate need of a haircut. That did not stop him from pulling them into delighted hugs, calling: “I knew you’d come!  _ I knew it, Harry!” _

“Neville - what the - how -?”

“I knew you’d come! Kept telling Seamus, it was only a matter of time!”

“Neville, what’s happened to you?”

“What? This?” he scoffed, shaking his head dismissively. “This is nothing. Seamus is worse, you’ll see. Shall we get going, then? Oh,” he said, turning to Aberforth. “Ab, there might be a couple more people on the way.”

“Couple more?” Aberforth frowned. “What d’you mean, a couple more, Longbottom? There’s a curfew and a Caterwauling Charm on the whole village!”

“I know, that’s why they’ll be apparating directly into the bar,” he shrugged. “Just send them down the passage when they get here, will you? Thanks a lot.”

“This is not an apparition point, you know,” he muttered, but it was more to himself than to them. Neville just laughed.

They thanked Aberforth and followed Neville down the passageway behind Ariana’s portrait. Smooth steps let them down into the ground and lamps on their sides lit their way. 

“How long’s this been here?” Weasley asked. “It isn’t on the Marauder’s Map, is it, Harry? I thought there were only seven passageways in and out of school?”

Neville then proceeded to explain how the Death Eaters had sealed all of the existing passageways up, and how this one had only opened up recently, in their time of need - probably a feature of the Room of Requirement, where it led to. He then kept asking them questions about their year, which they returned with questions about the state of things at Hogwarts. That was how they killed the time until they reached the school. 

They listened, horrified, as Neville gave them an offhanded report on how the school had been run since Snape had become Headmaster - how the Carrows had made students use Unforgivables on other students as punishment, and how they had used physical torture when someone refused; how the DA had publicly rebelled, trying to give people hope, and how they’d tried to snuff that out with brutal methods until people were scared to be associated with them. 

“We still have quite a following, though, you won’t believe it,” Neville told them cheerfully. “The number of Slytherins that walked over! Ryan went all loud and proud, and he took a whole bunch of younger kids with him. We’re all hiding out together.”

“Hiding out?” Draco repeated.

“Yes,” Neville nodded. “You know, those of us who are known rebels and who refused to bend to the Carrows' regime any longer, or who had their relatives threatened because of their behaviour here - they needed a place to hide, and Hogwarts provided it. Ah, we’re here.”

They turned a corner and found the end of the passage ahead of them, leading to a door. Neville went ahead, pushing it open. He climbed through, calling: “Look who it is! Didn’t I tell you?”

Harry went next, and Draco went after him, already hearing the screams. 

“HARRY!”

“It’s Potter, it’s POTTER!”

Before Draco’s eyes could focus on anyone, though, he heard a familiar voice call:  _ “Captain!” _

He blinked, and then, he was barrelled into by two girls - the twins, Zoe and Carina - and then, Ryan and Yurika came into view, along with Abbas. On an instinct, Draco pulled them all into a group hug. He heard Ryan laugh as he squeezed him around the shoulder. Abbas was sniffling, and when they pulled away, his former Beater had tears in his eyes which he decided to not mention. 

“Took you long enough,” Ryan grinned, nudging him. “Where have you been?!”

“Sorry,” Draco grinned. “Busy keeping Chosen Ones alive and all that.”

“Honestly,” Ryan huffed, rolling his eyes. “Priorities, Malfoy.”

Draco laughed. He couldn’t help it. 

“Ok, ok, calm down!” Neville called, making them all fall silent and turn towards him. 

Finally, Draco was able to take a look around. The Room of Requirement had turned into some sort of oversized wooden cabin, decorated in tapestries of all four houses. The walls were decked with bookshelves, and around the room, Draco could spot countless of cots, trunks, a few brooms and a large wireless in the middle of the room. 

Neville then proceeded to explain how he had discovered the place, one day when the Carrows had chased him and he had needed a place to hide, how the Carrows can’t get in, how the others had joined him and how the pathway to the Hog’s Head had opened to provide food. Draco was only half-listening, instead taking in all the faces. There were quite a few people he recognised; most of them former DA members like Finnigan, Brown, the Patil twins, Boot, Macmillan Goldstein or Corner, but there were others, too, lots of them he had never seen before. Quite a lot were wearing Slytherin robes. Some were staring at him in awe. He smiled nervously when their eyes met. 

Again, people started asking them what they’d been up to, but before they could really get into it, Harry flinched, closing his eyes. A vision, Draco realised immediately. He crossed the room towards where Harry had been dragged off to, touching his arm gently. After a moment, he blinked his eyes open, looking at Draco in open alarm.

“We need to get going,” he muttered. 

Draco nodded, catching Hermione and Weasley’s eyes. They both nodded, too. 

“What are we going to do then, Harry?” Finnigan asked, much to Draco’s surprise. “What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Harry repeated, obviously just as bewildered as Draco. “Well, there’s something we - the four of us - need to do, and then we’ll get out of here.”

A dead silence followed his words.

“What d’you mean, ‘get out of here’?” Neville asked.

“We haven’t come back to stay,” Harry answered, still rubbing at his scar, which was clearly bothering him. “There’s something important we need to do -”

“What is it?”

“I - I can’t tell you.”

“Why can’t you tell us?” Neville asked, an edge to his voice. The others were getting exasperated, too, Draco could tell. He could see how this looked to them, and he did not like it. “It’s something to do with fighting You-Know-Who, right?”

“Well, yeah -”

“Then, we’ll help you,” Neville insisted.

“Harry,” Draco breathed, turning to him. He was still touching him, and he was now gentling his grip to run his thumb over his elbow. “Let them help. We’ll need all the support we can get. This is a race against time, and right now, they know Hogwarts better than we do. They can help us find what we’re looking for.”

Harry met his gaze, clearly skeptical. Draco squeezed his arm in reassurance. 

“You don’t have to do everything on your own, Harry,” he whispered.

Before Harry could answer, the door leading to the Hog’s Head swung open, revealing a couple more familiar faces.

“We got your message, Neville! Hello, I thought the four of you must be here!”

Luna was waving at them cheerfully before she was enveloped in a tight hug, a flurry of black hair obscuring their vision of her as Yurika welcomed her girlfriend back. 

More movement followed. Seamus let out a roar of delight as he went to greet Dean; Yatin and Viola waved into the round, causing Carina and Zoe to scream and barrel into them as well, the way they had done with Draco; a group of familiar Hufflepuffs surrounded a fifth person who Draco hadn’t caught a glimpse of but could guess the identity of. His eyes were searching for Abbas, and he quickly found him, standing where Draco had left him earlier, completely shell-shocked as he stared. Demelza had walked over to him and grabbed his shoulder. She was now furiously whispering into his ear. 

“Um,” Draco muttered, letting go of Harry for a moment. “Right. I know we’re in the middle of a war and all, but give me one minute? I’ll be right with you, I promise.”

Harry blinked at him, completely flabbergasted, and then, Draco walked over to the group of Hufflepuffs he had briefly hung out with at the end of his sixth's year. He pushed his way into the middle until he found Killian, who’s smile widened as his eyes fell on Draco. 

“Draco! Oh my god, it’s so good to see you! Hi!”

“Hi,” Draco grinned, reaching out to grasp his forearm. “Sorry to abduct you, but there is something you have to do.”

And with that, he pulled Killian forward and away from his friends. Killian spluttered but fell silent when his eyes fell onto Abbas. He let Draco manhandle him towards the Slytherin, and he exchanged a grin with Demelza, who stepped back with a look of delight, giving them just a bit of space, but not enough to miss the show.

With a tiny push, Draco let go of Killian, and then, the two of them were face to face, at last. Draco could tell Abbas had tears in his eyes again, and it broke Draco’s heart a little. 

“Hi,” Killian said softly, attempting a smile.

“I didn’t know if you were alive,” Abbas whispered. “Until that message from Luna, I thought -”

“I know,” Killian breathed, stepping forward. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to contact you, and I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

“Right,” Abbas nodded. He was blinking rapidly and kneading his fingers, clearly trying to pull himself together. 

Killian hesitated, and then, he took another step towards Abbas, tentatively touching his jaw. Abbas looked at him with such intensity that Draco felt the need to look away, and then, Killian leaned in to kiss him.

Draco smiled, turning their back to them. Mission accomplished. 

Before he could return to Harry, though, the door swung open again, revealing a whole lot of ginger. 

“Draco!” Ginny grinned, pulling him into a tight hug, seeing as he stood closest to the door. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

“You know,” Ryan commented, sounding amused. “If you’re going to jump into a blond Slytherin’s arms, it should at least be your boyfriend's. Just so you know.”

“Hi, babe,” Ginny grinned, freeing herself from Draco to pull Ryan into a passionate kiss. 

Draco looked over to the door, finding Fred and George with their friend Lee Jordan in tow, as well as - Draco’s eyes narrowed - Cho Chang.

“I got the message,” she announced, holding up her golden coin, and Draco took that as his clue to walk over to Harry’s side again, pointedly entwining their fingers. Harry looked at him with raised eyebrows. 

“So, what’s the plan, Harry?” George called.

“There isn’t one,” Harry sighed.

“Just making it up as we go along? My favourite kind,” Fred grinned.

He groaned, looking up at Draco pleadingly. Draco smiled at him sheepishly.

“Okay, everyone, settle down,” he called, waving over Hermione and Weasley. “The thing is…”


	19. Chapter Eighteen: The Lost Diadem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! We're back for the next chapter, and we have a Horcrux to destroy! I really hope you'll enjoy this chapter! :)

Draco looked into the round, a little stomped when all of his fellow students were suddenly hanging on his lips. He was not used to such attention. He gulped, pressing on. “The thing is, there’s something we need to find. The Dark Lord hid it within this school, but we don’t really know what it is, or where it is.”

“That’s… not much to go on with,” Killian noted, a bit tentatively. 

“That’s nothing to go on with,” Viola rolled her eyes, giving Draco an unimpressed look. “You gotta have more than that.”

“It might have belonged to Ravenclaw,” Harry offered, finally agreeing to be part of this conversation. “So, if you’ve ever come across something with her eagle on it -”

“Well, there’s her lost diadem?” Luna offered, blinking into the round. 

“Yeah, but, sweetie,” Yurika said tentatively. “Isn’t it - you know, lost?”

“That might be the reason why it’s lost, though,” Abbas said slowly. “Because You-Know-Who took it and hid it?”

“But it was lost centuries ago,” Chang shook her head, and Draco’s eyes narrowed, no matter how valuable her input. “Professor Flitwick says the diadem vanished with Ravenclaw herself. People have looked, but nobody’s ever found a trace of it, have they?” She turned to her fellow Ravenclaw’s for confirmation, who nodded in agreement. Draco wished she had been wrong, just out of spite.

“And none of you have ever seen anything that looks like it?” Harry asked.

More people shook their heads. Harry sighed, catching Draco's eyes. Draco wondered if they were barking up the wrong tree with this one, no matter how much he wanted to prove Chang wrong. If it really had been lost for such a long time… Unless the Dark Lord had retrieved it from its original hiding place and hid it again, it seemed unlikely that this was the Horcrux they were looking for.

“If you’d like to see what the diadem’s supposed to look like, I could take you up to our common room and show you, Harry?” Chang suggested, making Draco’s head snap towards her. “Ravenclaw’s wearing it in her statue.”

“Brilliant idea,” Draco snapped. “Two students who are not enrolled here strolling into the Ravenclaw common room to look at a statue. Next.”

“Draco,” Harry muttered. His voice sounded strained and it made Draco look back at him. His eyes were pressed shut and when he opened them again, his gaze was unfocused. “He’s on the move,” he whispered. “I know this isn’t much of a lead, but I’m going to go and look at this statue, at least find out what this diadem looks like. Wait for me and keep, you know - the other one - safe.”

Draco pressed his lips into a thin line, staring him down. “I don’t like this,” he whispered.

“I’ll be quick and careful,” he promised.

“Fine,” he sighed. “But Luna is taking you. I trust Luna the most.”

“That’s sweet,” Luna beamed at him. He ignored Chang, who had deflated at his words. 

He watched Harry and Luna leave with a leaden stomach. He knew that it didn’t make sense for all of them to go together - it would draw unnecessary attention - but separating now that they were at such a dangerous place when they’d been together twenty-four seven for months and months… It seemed plainly wrong. 

He startled when a hand clasped on his shoulder, looking up to realise that Ryan, Ginny and Yurika had joined him. “Don’t frown like that,” Ryan grinned at him. “Your face will get stuck.” Draco grimaced and Ryan snorted.

“They’ll be fine,” Yurika said, quite confidently. “They’re both made of strong stuff.”

“You’re right,” Draco sighed. He looked at them. “So, I heard you’ve been quite busy.”

“Someone had to make trouble while all of you were gone,” Ginny grinned. “You didn’t really think we’d make it easy on Snape, right?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Draco snorted, shaking his head. He glanced around the room, his eyes catching on the Slytherin students milling around, some of them throwing furtive looks in his direction. “Though I have to admit,” he muttered. “I didn’t expect the number of Slytherins.”

“Didn’t you?” Ryan asked, raising his eyebrow.

“I mean,” Draco asked, frowning. “I’d heard about Slytherins joining our side, but I didn’t think it would be like  _ this. _ I mean - last year, it was just us?”

“It was never just us, Draco,” Yurika shook her head. “Just like it was never ‘just you’ before last year. The actual number of Slytherins who’d been in doubt or supported what you’d been doing has always been higher than you knew. They were just being Slytherins. They didn’t speak up until they saw there were others like them, others that could protect them.”

Draco had to smile at that. It was such a Slytherin thing to do, he wondered why it had never occurred to him before. “I spent too much time around Gryffindors,” he decided.

“It leaves marks,” Ryan said with a straight face, and Ginny hit him. 

“So that’s what you’ve been doing?” Draco asked, looking at Ryan and Yurika. “Provide a safe space for Slytherins to join you?”

“Someone had to play figurehead once you were gone,” Ryan smiled. “Might as well be a different, charming blond consorting with a reckless Gryffindor.”

“As if you were any less reckless than me,” Ginny countered.

“I’m wounded, darling,” Ryan called, bringing a hand up to his chest. “How can you doubt my most defining Slytherin quality?”

“To be fair, Ryan usually manages to get us out of the predicaments he gets us into, as well,” Yurika frowned. “It’s a weird talent.”

“See!” Ryan called, pointing at her. “Haneda appreciates my sense for self-preservation!”

“Well,” Draco raised an eyebrow, “honestly, I think as soon as loved ones are involved, the whole self-preservation thing goes a bit down the gutter, anyways.”

“True, that,” Yurika sighed. 

They fell into a comfortable silence, just watching the other students buzzing around them. His gaze soon fell onto Hermione and Weasley, who stood a bit on the side, whispering amongst themselves. As soon as their eyes met, though, they approached Draco, drawing him away from the others to talk to him in hushed voices.

“Draco, we’ve been thinking,” Hermione whispered. “Even if we find the second Horcrux, we don’t know for sure if your way of destroying them will work.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. He wished he could deny it, but he knew it was true. “So what are you suggesting?” he asked.

“The Chamber of Secrets,” Weasley hissed, catching his eyes. “The basilisk skeleton should still be there, right? Including the fangs, and the venom.”

Draco frowned. “But how are you going to get in without Harry?” he asked. 

“I’ll try to imitate his parseltongue,” Weasley shrugged. “I was with him when we went in. It’s worth a try.”

“Okay,” Draco frowned. “Are you taking the cup?” 

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. “If we find something, we might as well destroy it right away. If Harry gets a lead on the diadem, you can go with him and try to take care of it your way? If it doesn’t work, we’ll catch up with you with a fang as a plan B.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded. “Do you have the Marauder’s Map? In case you need to find us?”

“We do,” Hermione nodded. “It’s in my bag.”

“Good,” Draco said. “Be careful.”

Hermione nodded, and she smiled at him before the two of them took off as well, leaving Draco as the last man standing in the Room of Requirement, along with the rest of the rebels, of course. 

“What was that about?” Ginny asked curiously.

“They’re working on a plan B,” Draco shrugged. 

“Sounds like a smart thing to do,” Yurika noted. She looked at him and bumped his shoulder. “Want some tea while we wait?”

“Would love some,” Draco sighed, smiling as he followed them towards their cots, allowing himself to settle down.

As they waited, more and more people appeared in the Room of Requirement. It was starting to feel like a very crowded train station rather than a hideout within a school. The first ones to arrive were other students, former Gryffindor captain Oliver Wood and other teammates of Harry’s like Johnson, Bell or Spinnet, but then, the Order of Phoenix started to turn up, one by one. Mr and Mrs Weasley were followed by Bill and Fleur, and then, Kingsley and Remus, the latter who pulled Draco into a tight embrace when he reached him. 

“You’ve wreaked quite a havoc through the Wizarding World for a single day,” he sighed as he let go of him, looking him over. “Breaking into Gringotts, gatecrashing Hogsmeade, sneaking into Hogwarts -”

“Believe me, I had other plans, too,” Draco shrugged. “Things just happen around Harry?” 

Remus cracked a smile, shaking his head. “It appears so,” he agreed. “Well, I’m glad to see you are safe and sound, at least.”

Still, it took a while longer until, at last, Harry and Luna burst through the door. Harry looked dishevelled and his eyes were wild. He opened his mouth to say something, though he seemed thrown by the new arrivals because he held in, frowning into the round. 

It was Remus who stepped up to him. “Harry, what’s happening?” he asked.

“Voldemort’s on his way, they’re barricading the school - Snape’s run for it - what are you doing here? How did you know?”

“We sent messages to the rest of Dumbledore’s Army,” Fred offered as an explanation. “You couldn’t expect everyone to miss the fun, Harry, and the DA let the Order know, and it all kind of snowballed.”

“Harry, please focus,” Draco cut in, stepping up to them. “What’s going on? What’s the plan?”

“They’re evacuating the younger kids and everyone’s meeting in the Great Hall to get organised,” Harry said. “We’re fighting.”

The noise that went through the room at his words was deafening. Draco, though, felt cold at the news.

This was it. No more hiding, no more plotting. This was the battle. This was where it would be decided.

Bloody hell, he wasn’t ready. None of them were. The cup was still intact, one Horcrux was still missing and the snake was still alive! It was too early for a bloody showdown!

But he didn’t get to say any of that because everyone was already moving. Yurika had clasped Luna’s hand and they were making their way towards the Great Hall; Ryan and Ginny were rounding up the younger students, the latter pointedly ignoring her mother’s input when she pointed out that she was too young to fight.

“You’re underage!” she shouted. “I won’t permit it, Ginny!”

“I really don’t care, Mum,” she snapped. “I’m staying.”

“Ginevra Molly Weasley -”

“I’m in Dumbledore’s Army -”

“- a teenagers’ gang!”

“A teenagers’ gang that’s about to take him on, which no one else has dared to do,” Fred injected.

“She’s sixteen!” Mrs Weasley yelled. “She’s not old enough! What were you two thinking, bringing her with you -”

“ _ I _ took  _ them _ , not the other way around!” Ginny snapped. “ _ I  _ knew how to get in, remember?  _ I’ve _ been a leading member of Hogwarts’ resistance for the better part of the year. I’m not going anywhere!”

“Ginny,” Bill sighed. “Everyone underage will have to go home. It’s only right.”

“Everyone underage doesn’t have their entire family here, including their boyfriend and all of their friends!” she hissed. “If you try to send me off, I’ll find a way to come back, and that’s going to be dangerous! Do you really want to risk that?”

“If I may?” Ryan said, tentatively. “As much as I’d like Ginny to be safe, there’s no way she’s going to let that go. You should know her better than that. It might be better to just stick together and keep each other safe than try to exclude her and have her claw her way back into the castle, alone and unprotected.”

“Aren’t you underage, too?!” Mrs Weasley snapped.

“I turned seventeen in February,” Ryan smiled. “No one can send me home, sorry.”

She glared at him, as if for the first time, she saw him for the bad Slytherin-influence she might have suspected he was, until her husband put a hand onto his shoulder.

“Ryan isn’t wrong,” Mr Weasley sighed. “Ginny is headstrong, and she has been too involved with this for too long. We can’t ask her to leave.”

Mrs Weasley turned on him, clearly about to shout him down, but she was interrupted when someone new stumbled through the door - more ginger, though Draco had not seen that particular face in a long time. He stared, flabbergasted, at Percy Weasley looking around, eventually finding his family and approaching them.

“Am I too late?” he asked urgently. “Has it started? I only just found out, so I - I -”

A stunned silence followed his words. It broke when Fleur turned to Remus, asking: “So - ‘ow eez leetle Teddy?” 

That clear attempt of distraction gave all of them the initiative to get a move on. Ginny turned to Ryan, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the door, using that opportunity to escape towards the hallway. Draco decided to follow their example, taking Harry’s hand and turning to leave the room. 

“Where are Hermione and Ron?” Harry asked, under his breath.

“Trying to get into the Chamber of Secrets,” Draco whispered. “They figured the basilisk fangs might be a good alternative way to destroy the Horcruxes.”

“Ahh,” Harry blinked. “Okay.”

They pushed forwards, making their way towards the Great Hall in relative silence. Draco’s head was spinning with nerves, and his fingers tightened around Harry’s hands until he couldn’t stand it any more.

“What are we going to do?” he whispered. “This is too early. We can’t kill him yet.”

“I know,” Harry agreed. “We’ll need time.”

“We don’t have time if this spirals into a battle!” Draco pointed out.

“We’ll have to tell them to hold out for as long as they can,” Harry shrugged. “Barricade the castle, keep them out. That will give us time to look for the other Horcrux. And if we manage to destroy them both, we can go for Nagini and Voldemort together.”

“ _ If _ ,” Draco muttered. “What if we can’t?”

Harry shook his head. “We just have to try,” was all he said. 

Draco took a shaky breath. “What about the diadem?” he muttered. “Was your trip with Luna any use?”

“Not really,” Harry sighed. “I mean, I know what it looks like, but -”

Draco sighed. “Great,” he breathed. “Just great.”

They entered the Great Hall, which was already bursting with students, teachers and people who had joined from the Room of Requirement alike. Professor McGonagall was up front, giving instructions, but as soon as they entered, some people turned to look at them, pointing and muttering. McGonagall did not let that deter her.

“... evacuation will be overseen by Mr Filch and Madam Pomfrey. Prefects, when I give the word, you will organise your house and take your charges, in an orderly fashion, to the evacuation point.”

“And what if we want to stay and fight?” Macmillan shouted from the Hufflepuff table. 

There was deafening applause from a large part of the crowd. They only quietened when McGonagall spoke up once more.

“If you are off age, you may stay,”

Draco’s eyes wandered across the hall and quickly found Ginny, holding onto Ryan’s hand. They exchanged a grave look. She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arm around her. 

Draco drowned out most of the discussion that followed afterwards - students shooting questions at McGonagall, who answered, her tone calm and efficient - until her voice was drowned out by a different, more ethereal voice. It boomed through the hall, loud, clear and cold, with no obvious source of origin, though Draco knew, without the shadow of a doubt, who it belonged to. It made his blood freeze in his veins.

“I know that you are preparing to fight,” the Dark Lord announced. Some students screamed, others were dead silent. “Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.”

Draco looked at Harry, but the other boy was staring across the hall, watching the other students. 

“Give me Harry Potter,” the Dark Lord demanded, and Draco’s hand tightened around Harry’s, “and no one shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight.”

The silence that followed seemed to swallow them up whole. Draco looked up and his stomach dropped when his eyes found Theodore Nott’s at the Slytherin table. His gaze was unreadable as he stared back. 

“Well, that was a load of crap,” Ryan announced heartily, breaking the tension. “What now, Headmistress? I think you were going to say something before you were so rudely interrupted.”

“Thank you, Mr Owens,” Professor McGonagall said, cracking a smile. “As I was saying, I must ask you to move quickly and calmly towards the exit way we have provided. Do as your prefects say and don’t argue. Everyone who wishes to remain here and fight, please gather up here. We need to discuss.”

Movement followed her words. Prefects jumped into action to lead all the younger students towards the Room of Requirement. Draco saw Ginny kiss Ryan on the cheek before she slid out of the Great Hall, most probably to hide out somewhere in the castle until they’d sealed up the exit and she was sure to be allowed to stay. He had to commend her determination. Across the hall, Colin Creevey was throwing a tantrum towards a similar goal at Professor McGonagall, but he had a feeling he was going to be far less successful. Hanging with Slytherins had done Ginny good, in his opinion.

Then, Kingsley started delegating jobs between the teachers, the Order members and the remaining students. Draco turned to Harry.

“So,” he whispered, “what are we going to do?”

“I have no idea,” Harry moaned, looking despaired. “I don’t even know if the stupid diadem is an actual lead. Could he have turned it into a Horcrux, if nobody has seen it in living memory?”

Draco stared at him. “ _ In living memory _ ,” he repeated. His fingers tightened around Harry’s. “Harry, what about The Grey Lady?”

Harry’s eyes widened. He stared at him for a long moment and then, his head whirled around, likely looking out for the ghosts floating around the Great Hall - the only one in sight, though, was the Gryffindor ghost, and Harry called out: “NICK!”, before he started running after him.

Draco made to follow but then he almost knocked into someone, and looking up, he found himself face to face with Pansy Parkinson.

“Pans,” he muttered, blinking. “What are you still doing here? Aren’t you leaving?”

“Hello to you, too, Draco,” she muttered, rolling his eyes. “And no, I’m not leaving, your dolt. I’m on your side.”

“You are?” he gaped. “I mean,  _ officially?” _

“As of today,” she shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “We’ve been working undercover with Ryan for the better part of the year, and now, we decided it’s time to show our colours. Now or never, right?”

She nodded to her left, and Draco was shocked to see Ryan and Zabini approaching them, in deep discussion. When they looked up, Zabini nodded at Draco in greeting. “Malfoy,” he said. “Good to finally have you back.” He turned to Pansy. “We can be of use at the Astronomy Tower,” he told her.

“Okay,” she nodded, and with that, they took off, no more words needed.

“What are you doing?” Ryan raised an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t you be shadowing our saviour?” he nodded towards where Harry was just running from the Great Hall after finishing his conversation with Nearly Headless Nick, and Draco cursed. 

“Right,” he nodded. “See you around.”

And with that, he sprinted towards the exit and managed to catch a glimpse of him down the corridor. He took off after him but came to a reluctant halt when he heard Harry speak.

“You’re the Grey Lady? The ghost of Ravenclaw Tower?”

“That is correct.”

Draco hung back, unsure if this was the right moment to intrude. Very quietly, he turned around and walked back towards the staircase, sitting down - just out of earshot, but close enough so that he could still see them. He wasn’t going to let Harry disappear on him, after all.

And so he waited it out. 

Or that was the plan, until the door to the Great Hall burst open to reveal none other than Hagrid and Fang. 

Draco was on his feet without deciding to stand, and Fang was jumping him, clearly ecstatic to see him, but Draco merely patted his head as he made his way to Hagrid. 

“Draco! Yer here!” he boomed, a big, goofy smile on his face as he pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Draco couldn’t even bring himself to mind.

“Hagrid!” he grinned. “Salazar, it’s so  _ good _ to see you!”

“Same,” he chuckled, looking at Draco fondly. “Where’re the others?” 

“Busy, but Harry should be here any moment,” Draco answered. “Where have you been?”

“Hidin’ out in the mountains with Fang an’ Grawpie,” he shrugged and indicated towards the window, where Hagrid’s giant half-brother peeked inside. Draco waved, and to his surprise, Grawp waved back. “Heard You-Know-Who’s voice an’ came ter join. This is it, eh? Time ter fight?”

“Looks like it,” Draco sighed. 

That was the moment Harry came running around the corner, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide. If possible, they widened even more at the sight of Hagrid. He was momentarily halted in his rush to greet Hagrid, and then, Draco stepped in to rally them up again. 

“Hagrid, you can go to the Great Hall if you want to be useful,” Draco told him, catching Harry’s eyes. “I think Harry and I have something to do.”

“Of course,” Hagrid nodded. “See yeh aroun’, and be careful, yeh two!”

“We’ll try!” Draco smiled, and as Hagrid and Fang turned to walk towards the Great Hall, he stepped closer to Harry. “What did you find out?” he whispered. 

“It’s the diadem,” he said, in a rush. “The Grey Lady - she is Rowena Ravenclaw’s daughter, Helena, and she hid the diadem before her death. That’s why it was lost. She told Voldemort where it was, that’s how he found it, and then he turned it into a Horcrux and hid it at Hogwarts. The time when he came to apply for the DADA job?”

“Where?” Draco breathed, hands reaching out to grasp his shoulders. 

“I don’t know!” Harry breathed. 

Draco groaned and stepped back to run a hand through his hair.  _ Think _ , he ordered himself. Where would the Dark Lord hide the Horcrux? The Chamber of Secrets? No, that hadn’t been opened until their second year - he wouldn’t have risked opening it back then, in fear of being associated with it.

Then, it came to him. Nott had hidden the Vanishing Cabinet there. Students had hidden things there for centuries. Why should the Dark Lord be any different?

“The Room of Requirement!” Draco breathed. 

Harry blinked at him. “What?” he asked.

“He asked the Room to hide it!” Draco hissed. “Just like Nott asked it to hide the Vanishing Cabinet! No one would have ever found it.”

Harry stared. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. 

And then, they were running.

When they reached the Room of Requirement, the students were already gone; they’d all been brought to safety. The only people they found lingering were two women they had not expected to see: Dora, who was supposed to be at home with Teddy, and Neville’s grandmother. 

“I was the last to come through,” Augusta Longbottom explained. “I sealed it, I think it unwise to leave it open now that Aberforth has left the pub.” They had met Aberforth on the way to here; they knew that he, too, had joined them. “Have you seen my grandson?”

“He’s fighting,” Harry told her.

“Naturally,” she nodded proudly. “Excuse me, I must go and assist him.”

“Dora, what are you doing here?” Draco asked, turning to his cousin. “Why aren’t you with your son?”

“Because my husband is out here, and because this war decides my son’s future,” she muttered, looking nervous. “If our positions were reversed, would you stay home, Draco?”

“No,” he admitted, cracking a smile. “Go and find him.”

She smiled back and with that, she was off. 

Draco left it upon Harry to ask what they needed from the Room. He just stood back, listening to the sounds of war and centring himself.

Hermione and Ron still weren’t back, which meant it was on him to destroy the Horcrux.

Bloody hell. He just hoped that all his research hadn’t been for nothing.

“Draco,” Harry said, and he opened his eyes again. Harry stood by the open door of the Room of Requirement, looking into a different kind of room now - one that contained a seemingly endless space of - in need for a better word -  _ stuff; _ rows and rows of things Hogwarts students had hidden over the centuries and that had been stored in the room, never to be recovered.

Draco nodded, following Harry inside. 

It was a little overwhelming. He didn’t quite know where to start. Surely, the diadem could be  _ anywhere.  _

“We’re Seekers,” Harry muttered. “We can do this. Let’s split up.”

Draco, though, was doubtful that it would be as easy as catching a Snitch. He tried summoning the diadem once, but of course, it didn’t work. As he walked through the rows and found nothing, he kept thinking and thinking of a way to make this easier.

And then, it came to him. It was a  _ Horcrux.  _ They shouldn’t  _ look  _ for it. They could  _ feel  _ it.

“Harry!” he called. “Don’t search for it as much as… go with your instincts? You have a connection to the Dark Lord. Try to feel for the Dark Magic. We know how his Horcruxes feel like by now.”

“What?” Harry asked, sounding bewildered.

“Trust me!” Draco pleaded.

“I - okay,” Harry said, reluctantly.

For a while, there was silence as they kept searching. And then, Harry called: “Draco, I found it!”

Heart racing, Draco ran towards Harry. He found him standing in front of a statue of a warlock, a wig placed on top of it. The diadem rested on top of it, looking faded and emanating dark magic.

Draco nodded. “Okay,” he took a deep breath. “Just let me…”

He felt Harry staring at him. “You can do this?” he asked. 

“I have no idea,” Draco said honestly, raising his wand. “But I’ll try.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again. Calculations and formulas were floating around in his mind as he recalculated the mass of magic in the air. He nodded to himself, before starting to chant the incantation - it wasn’t a spell in the usual sense; it was long and he’d had to construct it for the occasion and he could only pray that it would work. 

He could feel the magic moving around them, though; pressing into their space, which meant it was evading another space. Pressure built, and Draco had to hold onto his wand with both hands because it was suddenly hard to keep it steady. The pressure kept building as the magic kept fleeing, through his wand into his body, and Draco gasped as he pressed his eyes closed against it. Harry reached out for him, but he couldn’t focus on it. It felt like a weight pushing down on him from all sides; inside, outside, up, down, left, right. And then, he couldn’t hold it anymore, and he let it go again. 

The magic flew out of him in a rush and back into the space it had abandoned - the space the Horcrux occupied. The effect was unexpectedly destructive, and Draco had to shield his face against it - the statue crumbled, leaving nothing but dust in its wake. 

Both Harry and Draco coughed. Then, Harry carefully stepped closer to the dust, reaching out to retrieve the diadem.

Or what was left of it.

It had been cracked cleanly through the middle. Harry was holding both pieces up for him to see.

“Bloody hell,” Harry whispered, looking at him in awe. “That was amazing, Draco.”

“Good to know that experiment was successful,” he muttered.

“Compared to the other Horcrux, that was pretty clean,” Harry commented, still gazing at the broken pieces in wonder. “You really are something else.”

Draco was about to respond, but then, another voice startled them from their conversation.

“Well, look who we’ve got here. Malfoy and Potter, in the flesh.”


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Sacrifices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the next part of the final battle. Please note that there will be Canon Character Deaths in this chapter.

They turned to stare at Theodore Nott, accompanied, as usual, by Crabbe and Goyle. All of them had trained their wands at Harry and Draco. Draco was grateful that he’d never put his down. His eyes narrowed as he stepped in front of Harry, shielding him a bit and giving him the opportunity to pull his own.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “You should have been escorted out.”

“We chose to stay,” Nott glared. “There was no way I wasn’t going to catch you myself, Malfoy.”

Draco snorted. “You really think we’re going to let you touch us?” Draco mocked. “After everything we’ve been through, evading the Dark Lord for the better part of the year, escaping Malfoy Manor and Gringotts, having my own aunt torture me - you think  _ you _ can get a hold of us?”

“Yes,” Nott snapped.

“You really have a big head, don’t you?” Draco commented.

“And you’ve always overestimated yourself,” Nott hissed. “Always so  _ full _ of it. The great Draco Malfoy. Well, not anymore. I’ll show you your place. I’ll be the one to bring you down.”

“This isn’t even about the war, isn’t it?” Draco sighed, shaking his head. “You couldn’t care less about Harry or the Dark Lord. You just want to get back at  _ me. _ ”

“Of course I care about the bloody war, Malfoy!” Nott shouted. “Unlike you, I’ve been in the midst of it for two years now! And it’s your bloody fault! But if I hand you over, it’s all going to be forgiven. My life is going to be better.”

“You had a choice, Nott,” Harry hissed from behind Draco. “Dumbledore gave you a choice. You just didn’t take it.”

“That was no choice!” Nott yelled. “My parents’ lives were on the line!”

“We all have a choice, Theo,” Draco sighed. “You just chose  _ wrong. _ ”

Nott’s eyes flashed, and then, he opened his mouth, probably to fire a curse at Draco, but Harry was faster.

“ _ Expelliarmus!” _ he called, and then, Nott’s wand was in his hand.

Goyle roared, about to fire his own curse at Harry, but Draco was there this time, disarming him in turn. 

None of them had had an eye on Crabbe, though. He’d raised his wand as well and was casting a spell, one that had all of their eyes go wide.

_ Fiendfyre. _

“Harry,” Draco whispered, grabbing for Harry’s wrist. “ _ Run!” _

For once, Harry did not question him. They scurried away from the deadly fire as fast they could, hearing the other three argue loudly in the background. 

“We need to get out of here!” Draco called. “Fiendfyre is a death sentence if we can’t - you can’t put that shit out!”

“I think I saw brooms over there!” Harry called, pulling Draco down a row to their left. Draco could feel the heat in their backs but he did not dare look around to check how much of the room had already caught fire. 

And then, they found the brooms. A whole bunch of them was stacked in a corner, and Harry grabbed two, handing Draco one. 

“Come on,” he called, about to get on his, but Draco hesitated. He stared at the other brooms, then looked back at the flames.

They were spreading dangerously.

He thought of himself, playing with Nott, Crabbe and Goyle as children. He thought of the letter, and how this could have been him. His jaw clenched, and he reached for the other brooms.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, staring.

“We have to help them,” Draco called.

“You -” he began, and then he held in, closing his eyes with a pained expression. “Merlin’s  _ balls,” _ he groaned. “You’re right. Give me those damned brooms.”

And with that, they lifted up in the air and searched for the other Slytherin students.

They found Nott, clutching an unconscious Goyle as he inched away from the flames, panic on his face. 

Crabbe was nowhere in sight. He felt a pang in his chest but knew that it was most likely too late for him already.

“Here!” Draco called, throwing the broom. Nott looked up and caught it just in time. “Save yourselves. You can do that, I assume?”

He lingered around just long enough to see Nott mount the broom, pulling Goyle on with him before he turned and raced after Harry for the door. Harry dropped the other two brooms he was holding, focusing on finding the exit. He had to manoeuvre carefully through the smoke and flames, but eventually, he found the door, blasting it open with a spell and flying right through it. 

Nott and Goyle were on their heels and once they were all safe, Draco shot a spell at the door, throwing it shut.

They lay on the stone floor, panting. 

“Be grateful we saved your bloody lives, Nott,” Harry spat. “After what you did to Draco last year - all these years, actually - you sure didn’t deserve it.”

Nott stayed silent. He just stared up at the ceiling, expression empty.

Then, they heard hasty footsteps. They looked up to find Hermione and Weasley hurrying towards them.

“Harry! Draco!” Hermione called, the Marauder’s Map still in hand. “Oh my god, we were looking all over for you! What happened?”

“Found the diadem,” Draco muttered, sitting up. He glanced at Nott and Goyle, but they still hadn’t moved. “It’s - dealt with. Not a problem anymore. What about you? Did you take care of the cup?”

“We did,” Weasley confirmed. “Hermione was brilliant.” 

She smiled shyly at him, and Draco thought, well, that’s nice and all, but we have no time for that now. 

“So that means we only have the snake left,” Draco pointed out, turning back to Harry. “What are we going to -”

But he broke off as yells filtered through the corridors from a nearby duel. 

“Death Eaters,” Harry muttered, scrambling to his feet. 

As they turned the corner, they found Fred and Percy duelling a couple of masked Death Eaters, and without thinking, they jumped into the midst of it. Absentmindedly, Draco noted how numb he felt to the motion - how it had come down to this, over the years; attack, defend, survive. Don’t think, because thinking in those situations might actually make you falter and cost you your life.

Percy hit one of the Death Eaters with a spell and his hood slid, revealing him to be Thicknesse, clearly recognizable even through his mask.

“Hello, Minister!” Percy called, his voice grim as he sent another jinx at Thicknesse, who just stared at him in apparent shock. “Did I mention I’m resigning?”

That made Fred laugh as he, too, flung a curse at Thicknesse, along with Harry, making the Minister buckle and collapse. “You’re joking, Perce!” he shouted, sounding gleeful. “I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were -”

And then, something hit the wall behind them - it must have been some sort of exploding spell, but all Draco could suddenly think off was that battle last year, when something similar had happened, and in a split second instinct, he pulled his wand and yelled out a shield charm to cover them all.

The impact still hit them and they were thrown back several feet, but the shield charm weakened the impact. Draco landed in a painful bundle of limbs on top of Harry and Fred, who groaned, muttering: “Okay, I do not need to get that physically intimate with the two of you, sorry.”

“I just saved your fucking arse, so stop complaining,” Draco grumbled, rolling off him, looking around, making sure everyone else was safe. Weasley had gotten his arms wrapped around Hermione as they were carefully sitting up. Percy was brushing off his robes. 

Draco’s shield charm had  _ just _ covered them, it seemed. Just a little farther, he could see the Death Eaters on the ground, unconscious or possibly worse.

“Draco!” Harry hissed, grabbing his arm, and Draco looked up.

Through the hole on the wall, a giant spider was trying to climb into the castle. He heard Weasley whimper to his right.

“Well,” Draco said, his voice thin. “Better get moving.”

They ran blindly down the corridor, away from spiders trying to climb into the castle from various nooks (yes, plural) - and then, Draco skittered to a halt when he saw a familiar figure locked in a fierce battle with three Death Eaters.

Dora. 

Without thinking, he turned and ran to help her. He heard Harry curse and follow him.

The Death Eaters didn’t see Draco coming, so his Stunning Spell hit the first man right in the back, making him drop like dead weight. When the others turned with wide eyes, Harry got the second one in the shoulder. Hermione finished off the last one only a second after, before any of them could even lift a wand, and with that, Dora stood in a puddle of unconscious bodies, blinking at them owlishly. 

“Well, thanks for that,” she muttered.  “I was looking for Remus and got cornered,”

“Well, go and find him, then,” Draco sighed, making a shooing motion. “But watch out for yourself!”

“You, too, kiddo,” she sent him a quick smile and then, she was off.

Draco turned to the three others, a little helplessly. “What are we even doing?” he asked. “Like, do we have a plan?”

“We need to finish this!” Hermione agreed. “We need to get to the snake!”

“Can you look inside his mind?” Weasley asked Harry. “Can you find out where he is?”

Draco wanted to snap at him because _again_ , Harry was not a crystal ball, and he couldn’t use his connection at will, but then, Harry closed his eyes and seemed to… disappear, the way he did when he had his visions. And Draco felt himself pale. Since when could he just  _ do _ that whenever he wanted? Was it because the Dark Lord was so weak?

When Harry tore his eyes open again what seemed like an eternity later, he was shaky and short of breath, but his eyes were wide and determined. 

“He’s in the Shrieking Shack,” he told them. “The snake is with him. It’s got some sort of magical protection around it. He’s just sent your father to find Snape.”

He glanced at Draco, and Draco gulped, nodding. 

“Voldemort’s sitting in the Shrieking Shack?” Hermione demanded, angry now. “He’s not - he’s not even fighting?”

“He doesn’t think he needs to fight,” Harry shrugged. “He thinks I’m going to go to him.”

“And he’s not wrong,” Draco muttered. “If he keeps the snake close, that’s exactly what we’ll have to do. Go to him.”

“We can’t let Harry go,” Weasley said immediately. “Listen, Hermione and I will go and take care of the snake, and you two will just -”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I’ll just take the cloak and -”

“It makes more sense if I take the cloak,” Hermione insisted, “and then -”

“Oh Merlin,” Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re such  _ Gryffindors,  _ I can’t believe it! Are you really fighting about who’s going to go and risk their life to kill that snake?! You are insufferable, all of you! How did I manage seven years with the lot of you?!” They all fell silent, looking at him. Draco felt a strange sense of satisfaction. At last, they were listening to him. “We’re all going together,” he said, loud and clear. “It makes absolutely no sense to split up, and we’re strongest together. If one gets into trouble, the others can bail them out.”

They stared at him. Then, they looked at each other, raising their eyebrows. 

“Fine,” Harry smiled. “Together it is.”

And then, Death Eaters turned around the corner and charged towards them, forcing them into defensive mode for a few minutes. The skirmish was broken apart by Peeves of all creatures, who’d dropped a Snargaluff pod onto the last Death Eaters head. 

They took that as their cue to run. On their way through the castle grounds, Draco tried to keep his eyes firmly ahead, but still, he took in all sorts of terrifying pictures - Remus and Dora fighting back to back (at least, they had found each other), Ginny, Ryan, Yurika and Luna fighting off one of the giant spiders in unison, Nott and Goyle cowering in a corner, watching the scenes around them in fear, Neville fighting Death Eaters with Venomous Tentacula, Fenrir Greyback leaning over Lavender Brown’s twitching body (Hermione shot a curse at him, and Abbas and Killian startling from the noise to run over to her), Hagrid almost being carried off by the Acromantulas and Grawp saving him, Dobby and Kreacher leading an army of house-elves into the battle…

They’d almost made it out of the castle grounds when they came face to face with a hoard of dementors, because of course. Draco and Hermione were quick to shoot up their Patronuses, and Weasley’s followed soon after; Harry’s stag, though, remained elusive, and Draco glanced over at him, worried and distracted. His own arctic fox started to fade as his focus shifted. 

“Harry,” he hissed. “What’s wrong?”

Harry didn’t answer, but his eyes were closed and he was pale - was it the despair of the war? Was it hard for Harry to grasp onto a happy thought? Easier for him to slip into hopelessness? The ice slipped into Draco’s soul, as well, and he took a shaky breath, calling out the incantation again, but his fox wasn’t as bright this time around. 

And then, a silver hare, a fox, a horse and a crow Patronus surged forward and after the dementors, pushing them back into the forest. Draco turned around and found Luna, Yurika, Ginny and Ryan approaching them. Luna stepped up next to Draco, taking his hand. 

“Think of something happy,” she hummed, her voice calm and strangely relaxing.

Draco nodded and closed his eyes. When he opened them again and cast once more, his own Patronus was back in full force. He glanced at Harry, who was talking to Ginny, her face and tone soft and gentle. At last, Harry, too, was able to produce his Patronus, and Draco felt relief so start flood his veins that his own Patronus glowed in response to it. 

The dementors retreated, at last, apparently realising they were outnumbered. With a sigh of relief, Draco lowered his wand.

“Can’t thank you enough,” Weasley sighed, turning to the others. “You just saved -”

That’s how far he came before he was cut off by a roar. The earth shook, making them stumble, and then, they looked up to see a giant approaching them from the forest. 

“Run!” Ryan yelled, grabbing Ginny’s hand and pulling her backwards. 

“The Whomping Willow!” Harry shouted, to Draco, Hermione and Ron. “Go!”

And so, the group split again, with Ryan and Co fleeing back to the castle, while they sprinted with Harry towards the Whomping Willow with all their might. They barely allowed themselves to halt - Draco shot a non-verbal spell to push down on the knot that immobilised the tree, and then, they all slipped down the passageway between the roots, Harry leading them. 

Their panting breaths filled the dark tunnel as they pushed ahead, having to resort to crawling to pass through the narrow passage. Nearly four years had passed and it showed from the space they had to move within the earthy walls. 

At last, the tunnel began to slope upwards, and they could see the literal light at the end of it. 

“The Cloak!” Hermione hissed from behind Draco. “Put the Cloak on!”

Harry hastily draped the cloak over himself before edging on until he could look out into the Shrieking Shack. 

Draco glanced over his shoulder at Hermione and Weasley. They both seemed uneasy but resigned to their roles in the second line. Draco suppressed a sigh and strained his ears to listen. He thought he could hear the Dark Lord talking to Snape, but from his position, it was hard to make out exactly what they were saying. He was too far down, but if he moved further up, it would be an awkward position to hold himself upright. The tunnel was too steep.

For a few long minutes, they waited, bated breaths, listening to muffled voices and footsteps. 

Then, a scream tore through the air - Snape’s scream, Draco realised. Draco froze, unable to move. A body seemed to hit the floor and then, there were more footsteps - Voldemort retreating? 

Draco stared at the space where Harry’s trainers were just visible beneath the Cloak. Then, they moved, and Harry was scrambling up into the Shrieking Shack. Dust hit them as he moved. 

“Harry!” Hermione hissed, sounding panicked, but Draco was already climbing upwards, ready to go after him.

As he stuck his head out of the entrance, he saw that Snape’s body was crumpled on the floor. Blood was everywhere, oozing from a wound at his throat, and Draco felt sick watching it. Draco wondered if he had looked like that when Nagini had attacked him. Maybe that was why Harry was pressing down on Snape’s wound with a haunted expression on his face.

Snape was staring up at Harry, his mouth opening and closing in an attempt to speak. He reached out to grasp at Harry’s robes, pulling him close. He was saying something, and Draco was scrambling closer to hear it. He knew Hermione and Weasley were on his heels. 

“... take… it…” he caught, and then, memories were leaking from his mouth, ears and eyes in their silvery form. 

He could hear Hermione summoning a flask from her bag before she thrust it at Harry. He then proceeded to gather the memories into it with his wand. They filled it to the brim.

When he was done, Snape’s grasp on Harry’s robes slipped and he sank back to the floor.

“Look… at.. me…” he breathed, eyes fixed to Harry’s face.

Draco stared, eyes wide as Harry’s eyes met Snape’s just before he went completely still. 

They sat in total silence for a long moment. Draco reached out for Harry, who twitched, as if having forgotten about his presence. 

And then, the Dark Lord’s voice echoed across the grounds.

_ “You have fought,”  _ he said. _ “Valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilt is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat, immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.  _

_ I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you.”  _ Draco looked up at Harry, but he was staring into space, his face unreadable. It was deeply unsettling.  _ “You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child who had tried to conceal you from me. One hour.” _

Draco’s fingers tightened on Harry’s wrist. Hermione and Weasley were shaking their heads frantically. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Weasley said.

“It’ll be alright,” Hermione breathed. “Let’s - let’s go back to the castle, if he’s gone to the Forest we’ll need to think of a new plan -”

“Harry, look at me,” Draco said calmly. It took Harry a couple of seconds before his gaze tore away from Snape’s still body. Green eyes met his. “We talked about this,” Draco whispered. “We all made our choice. We know what we’re doing, and you surviving is our best shot at making it out of this alive. So don’t listen to any of this bullshit. It doesn’t make sense.”

Harry gulped and nodded. With a shaky breath, he got to his feet, and Draco pulled himself up with him. 

The walk back up the school was silent. Draco kept sneaking glances at Harry, but he was withdrawn and didn’t meet his eyes. It scared Draco, to be quite honest.

The castle and the grounds were in shambles, showing clear signs of the battle that had been raging here until recently. It took them a while to find the others, who had gathered in the Great Hall. The injured were treated upon the raised platform, where the teachers usually sat, Madam Pomfrey being assisted by a group of helpers, amongst which Draco could see the Accrington twins. 

Weasley soon spotted his family and ran over to make sure everyone had come through okay. Draco scanned the crowd from his spot in the door, trying to make out everyone he knew from afar. All Weasleys seemed to be present, though it took him a moment to find Ginny - she was sitting with Ryan where the dead were laid out, her head on his shoulder. His heart dropped when he saw that Ryan’s eyes were red and puffy from crying. He quickly looked around for his teammates, but Yurika and Luna were having tea with Professor Trelawney in a corner, and Yatin, Viola, Abbas and Killian were standing not far from them. 

“Hey,” Draco muttered, leaning closer to Harry, who was still standing next to him, watching the scene with some apprehension. “I’ll check on Ryan for a moment. I’ll be right back?”

“Okay,” Harry nodded.

“Promise not to go anywhere,” Draco told him sternly. 

“Promise,” Harry nodded. 

Draco sighed and made his way over to Ginny and Ryan, continuing his inventory of friends and family on the way. He spotted Remus and Dora talking to McGonagall, Kingsley and Moody, and Pansy and Zabini were huddled against each other not far from them. Pansy spotted him and smiled. He smiled back before reaching his destination and sitting with his friends. 

He saw that a small Slytherin girl was laid out in front of Ryan, pale and motionless. He looked up at his friend, tentatively asking: “Are you okay?”

“No,” he asked, his voice croaked. His eyes were still on the girl’s face. “Her name was Lisa. I bloody recruited her. It’s my fault.”

“You had no idea she snuck in to fight,” Ginny whispered. “You couldn’t personally make sure all of them would get out safely. You’re not the Prefect, Ryan. It wasn’t your responsibility.”

“Still,” he shook his head. “If I hadn’t pulled her in, she would still be alive.”

“You can’t think like that,” Draco shook his head. “That way lies madness. If Harry starts blaming himself for every death, he might as well jump off the Astronomy Tower.”

That seemed to sober Ryan up a little. He finally looked at Draco.   
  
“I’m glad you’re back,” he said. “This Slytherin figurehead thing is really fucking hard. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Draco scoffed. “I basically fell into it. I had no clue what I was doing.”

“You looked like you had it all together,” Ryan gave him a watery smile.

“Nah,” Draco shook his head. “I was kicking so hard underwater, mate. I’d have attracted all the Grindylows.”

Ryan chuckled at that and Ginny gave him a kiss on the cheek. “See,” she whispered. “You don’t have to have all the answers.”

Draco looked around the mass of bodies tentatively, afraid of who he would recognise. He spotted Parvati Patil being consoled by her twin sister and his stomach fell. So it seemed that Lavender hadn’t made it, after all. 

“Colin Creevey died, too,” Ginny told him, seeming to read Draco’s thoughts. “A couple of younger students, actually. They snuck in together.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco whispered, shaking his head. He turned back to her. “Anyone else we know?”

“No one we’re close to,” she assured him. “We were very lucky.” 

“Draco,” a very familiar voice interrupted them, making Draco freeze. He turned slowly to find his mother looking down at him with a smile. 

He stared. Her usually immaculate hair was dishevelled and there was dust on her face, but she seemed unharmed. “What are you doing here?” he whispered.

“Oh, darling,” she smiled. “You didn’t think I’d stay away, did you?”

His throat closed up and then he was on his feet, pulling his mother into his arms. She held him tightly. She still smelt of her old, flowery perfume and the scent was so familiar that it made him laugh.

“It’s so good to see you,” he whispered.

“You have no idea,” she breathed, pulling away to study him. “Oh, my boy. Just look at you.”

Draco smiled, letting her touch his cheek and look her fill. Her fingers brushed his throat, where he knew the scar from Nagini’s attack was still visible, and she frowned but didn’t comment. 

“Where is your Harry?” she asked, at last. “It’s rare for you to let him out of your sight.”

Draco looked around, panicking for a moment when Harry wasn’t where he left him. He quickly found him amongst the Weasleys, though, and relaxed. 

“I should probably go over there,” he sighed. “We sort of need a new plan.”

“Okay,” she nodded, brushing his hair from his forehead. “We’ll talk later, darling, when this is over.”

Draco smiled at her complete confidence in their survival. Trust his mother to keep a clear head. He leaned in to kiss her cheek before turning to find Harry once more.

He was just in time, it seemed, as Harry was silently breaking away from the Weasleys to leave the Great Hall. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Draco asked, crossing his arms.

Harry froze, looking caught. He sighed, turning to face him.

“I just wanted to go up to Dumbledore’s office,” he admitted. “To check whether the Pensieve is still there. I need to look at Snape’s memories.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” Harry said, too quickly. “I just - I need to do this alone, I think.”

Draco frowned. “Why?” he asked, uncomprehending.

“I don’t know,” Harry sighed, looking shifty. “I just - can you give me a couple of minutes? Please?”

Draco’s frown deepened. “This isn’t about what the Dark Lord said earlier, right?” he checked. “You’re not going to do anything stupid?”

“No,” Harry shook his head, gulping. “I just… Please, Draco. A few minutes.”

Draco sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Fine,” he relented. “I’ll wait at the bottom of the stairs. And then you’ll tell me what you saw, and we’ll work out a plan together. Deal?”

“Deal,” Harry nodded, sending him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Draco rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Don’t make me regret this,” he warned.

Harry just smiled before turning and disappearing into the Entrance Hall. Draco followed at a slower pace, taking his place at the bottom of the stairs and settling in. 


	21. Chapter Twenty: The Final Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! So, I'm back with the next chapter, the final battle and the last chapter containing actual canon plot! I hope you enjoy what I did with it. Please prepare tissues, I have a feeling some of you may be needing them. Also, warnings for detailed description of grief, shock and traumatic events.

Draco didn’t move from his spot on the stairs for a long time. He watched people walk in and out of the Great Hall, leaving for the castle grounds or entering to find family and friends. His foot kept bobbing, up and down, his nerves feeling more and more frayed the longer Harry stayed absent. 

He wondered what information the memories Snape had left for him contained. He had been wondering if maybe, Snape hadn’t been working as an undercover agent for Dumbledore after all, ever since the mysterious doe Patronus had appeared. Maybe his memories would give them the last clue?

Finally, the entrance doors opened again to reveal Longbottom. He smiled at Draco for a moment, before a frown found his way onto his face.

“What are you doing here?” he asked him, seemingly confused.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, equally as nonplussed. He gestured up the stairs, replying: “I’m waiting for Harry, he’s up in Dumbledore’s office to -”

“No, he isn’t,” Neville interrupted him. “I met him outside, about ten minutes ago? He was walking towards the Forest.”

Draco stared, feeling cold all of a sudden. “Y- You must be mistaken,” Draco muttered, his voice unsteady now. “It must have been someone else, I was here all this time and -”

“I talked to him, Draco,” Neville shook his head, looking concerned now. “He told me to kill the snake, in case you, Ron or Hermione are too busy.” Draco’s eyes widened at those words, and so did Neville's. “He said it was all part of the plan,” he continued, his voice smaller now, “and that he wasn’t giving himself up. I checked!”

His hands shaking now, Draco jumped to his feet. He felt numb all over with fear. This couldn’t be happening. “When was this?” he whispered.

“Ten minutes ago, I think?” Neville muttered, his face pale. “He’s long gone.”

Hastily, Draco rose his wrist to his face, turning the small wheel and saying: “Harry?” No response. “Harry!” he said again, louder this time. “Harry!” Again, nothing.

Panic flooded his veins like poison now. He abandoned his bracelet and reached for the necklace next, wrapping it up in his palm and closing his eyes. His mind focused on Harry and then, he saw him.

Harry was indeed in the Forest, standing encircled by a crowd of Death Eaters. He had no wand drawn and expression was resigned, but not afraid.

And then, a green light flashed, and the connection broke off abruptly.

Draco’s eyes tore open and he stood, unseeing. He wasn’t sure if he was breathing. He wasn’t sure of anything. 

Someone was screaming. Then, he realised it was him. Arms wrapped around him, and he thought it was his mother cradling him, trying to put him back together, but there was nothing she could do.

He was broken, and it was irreparable. 

He only knew that he was crying because he couldn’t see. His chest was burning, but he couldn’t take any air. 

“Oh, my darling,” his mother breathed in his ear, rocking him, as if he was back to being a toddler. “Oh, my boy. Please, breathe. In and out. Come on.”

He knew there were voices around him, but he couldn’t focus on them. He thought he could hear Hermione’s frantic yelling, and Weasley’s, but he had no space left to reach out for them. 

Draco didn’t know how much time passed. The concept of time passing didn’t compute with him. How could the world move on? His world had ended with Harry. There was no world after Harry. 

But then, the Dark Lord’s voice sounded through the grounds, announcing:  _ “Harry Potter is dead.” _

Draco whimpered, pulling his hands over his ears. He couldn’t drown out the voice. His mother held him a little tighter. 

_ “He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle, now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live, and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.” _

Draco’s ears rang in the silence that followed. He could hear the entrance doors being yanked open. His mother gently but firmly pulled him to his feet. 

“Come on, darling,” she whispered. “I know it feels like the end of the world, but this isn’t over yet.”

But it was. Didn’t she see? Didn’t they all see?

Around him, people had started to scream. Hermione was sobbing Harry’s name. And then, Remus was there on Draco’s other side, keeping him upright, and together, Narcissa and he pushed him out of the Entrance Hall and onto the crowded steps. 

Even through his tears, Draco’s gaze immediately narrowed down onto Harry’s limp body, and his legs would have given out if Remus hadn’t held him upright. Hagrid was holding him, cradling him like a baby, as if he had just saved him from that house in Godric’s Hollow as a one-year-old. 

His mother hushed him, kissing his temple. Draco barely heard the sobs that were escaping his lips. Everything hurt. 

“SILENCE!” The Dark Lord yelled. “It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!”

Hagrid gently lowered Harry’s body to the ground and Draco felt like he was going to throw up. He couldn’t watch this. 

“You see?” he continued. “Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!”

“He beat you!” Weasley yelled, and then, everyone was shouting, but the Dark Lord quickly silenced them with a charm. 

“He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds,” he announced, preening in the obvious lie, “killed while trying to save himself -”

And then, Longbottom lunged forward, clearly aiming for Nagini. He was quickly taken down and disarmed, though. Draco didn’t even have it in him to wince when he connected with the ground. He felt empty; disconnected from himself. 

“And who is this?” The Dark Lord asked. “Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?”

It was Draco’s aunt who spoke. With a delighted laugh, she said: “It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” The Dark Lord said, tipping his head to the side. “But you are a pureblood, aren’t you, my brave boy?”

“So what if I am?” Neville spat.

“You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom.”

“I’ll join you when hell freezes over,” Neville called. “Dumbledores Army!”

There was an answering cheer from the crowd, breaking the charms that had been set over them. Voldemort’s lip twisted.

“Very well,” he said. “If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head, be it.” With that, he summoned the Sorting Head, of all things, proclaiming: “There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School. There will be no more houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone, won’t they, Neville Longbottom?” 

When he pointed his wand at Neville, Draco closed his eyes. Draco couldn’t watch another person he cared about die today. 

“Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me,” the Dark Lord announced. There were screams and shouts and Draco thought he heard the sound of spells and maybe flames. 

And then, the earth shook, and a different kind of uproar made his eyes snap open again to find Grawp approaching the scene, eyes focused on Hagrid. 

“HAGGER!” he yelled, and then, the scene broke into chaos. 

The Dark Lord’s giants joined the scene, and then, with more shouts, centaurs came galloping out of the forest, shooting at the Death Eaters. Draco’s eyes found Neville again, only to see him drawing a very familiar sword from the Sorting Hat.

Gryffindor’s Sword.

And before he could comprehend it, Longbottom had lurched for Nagini, and her head came clear off, with a single stroke. 

The Dark Lord screamed in fury, and then, he was swallowed up in the battle that had broken out anew. Remus pulled away from him, drawing out his wand to charge in. 

“Darling, draw your wand,” his mother whispered, clutching his arm. “We need to defend ourselves.”

Draco didn’t. What was the point? He only stared, apathetic, as curses flew around them. 

“Harry!” Hagrid shouted. “Harry - where’s Harry?”

What did it matter, Draco wondered. He had gone somewhere where none of them could reach him.

And then, there was a flash of red light, clearly aimed towards him, and Draco had barely time to blink before it was deflected by his mother’s shield charm.

“Oh no, you don’t!” she yelled, glaring at her sister with an expression as vicious as he had never seen it on her before. “You’re not going to hurt my boy!”

His aunt Bellatrix snorted, taunting her. “What are you going to do, Cissy?” she asked. “Hide him away for another year?”

“No,” she snapped, aiming her wand at her. “This ends here and now, Bella.”

“You don’t have the guts,” she rolled her eyes.

“Watch me!” she sneered and fired the first curse.

Draco watched, flabbergasted, as his mother duelled his aunt, her movements quick and vicious, and quickly, Bellatrix’s smug expression faded, replaced by something more feral. 

“You know,” Bellatrix called, after a while. “He screams so prettily when you torture him long enough. I’m looking forward to doing it again.”

She gasped when the force of Narcissa’s next curse pushed her a few steps back. 

“You will  _ never _ touch him again,” she ground out, and her next shot went right for her sister’s heart.

It connected, and Bellatrix Lestrange froze in her movements, the tiniest sliver of surprise entering her eyes before she toppled to the ground, lifeless. 

Then, various things happened in quick succession: 

The Dark Lord screamed in fury.

Various people were thrown back to clear the path between him, Narcissa and Draco. 

Draco knew, with certain clarity, that this was how they were going to go.

He saw his father’s anguished face in the crowd. 

The Dark Lord directed his wand towards them.

And then, a familiar voice shouted: “Protego!”, and a Shield Charm came up between them and the Dark Lord, deflecting the spell.

Draco had frozen. He must be hallucinating. It couldn’t be. 

But then, cheers erupted. “He’s alive!” People shouted. Draco blinked, uncomprehending, as Harry stepped up to face the Dark Lord head-on. 

“What?” Draco breathed, sure he was going to faint. 

This couldn’t be real. Maybe he  _ had  _ died. 

The Dark Lord and Harry were now circling each other and at the same time, everyone was giving them space, creating a large circle to watch from the sidelines. 

“I don’t want anyone else to try to help,” Harry announced. “It’s got to be like this. It’s got to be me.”

And then, Draco just stared as things unfolded in front of his eyes. Harry was talking, he knew. He was probably explaining important things, too. Draco couldn’t absorb a single word. All he could do was stare and feel strangely numb and shivery.  _ Shock _ , some shred of rationality that was left in his brain told him. 

He blinked when one sentence penetrated his daze.

“The true master of the Elder Wand was Theodore Nott,” Harry announced. Draco frowned and the Dark Lord stared at him in shock. “And I overpowered Nott earlier tonight. I took his wand from him.” Another pause, in which the Dark Lord failed to reply. Then, Harry continued: “So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it? Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”

Again, the Dark Lord didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his wand, and so did Harry. 

They both fired their spells at the same time, Harry the Disarming Charm, the Dark Lord the Killing Curse. Their spells collided with a deafening sound in the middle, golden flames erupting. Then, both spells redirected towards the Dark Lord and hit him square in the chest.

The Elder Wand flew through the air, and Harry caught it without much trouble. 

The Dark Lord’s lifeless body hit the ground, as Bellatrix’s had only minutes before.

Silence enveloped them. And then, the air seemed to explode in cheers. 

Harry was swallowed in the masses within seconds. Draco, though, couldn’t make himself move towards him. Instead, his knees gave out. He sank to the floor, his ears ringing. 

His mother was at his side, stroking his hair. “It’s over, Draco,” she whispered. “We won. He’s alive. It’s all going to be okay, darling.”

Draco couldn’t comprehend any of it. His emotions were a failed potion attempt someone had thrown one of the Weasley twins’ firecrackers into, and now he was messy and all over the place. 

Then, Ginny was there, and she was pulling him into a tight hug, kneeling down on the grass with him. “What are you doing here, all by yourself?” she asked when she pulled away, her eyes watery but her smile wide. “You should go over there, Harry will want to see you!”

Draco quickly shook his head, recoiling. Her smile faded slightly. “I’ll talk to him later,” Draco brought out, “he’s - busy right now.”

“Not too busy for  _ you!” _ Ginny argued, but she didn’t get any farther than this because next, Hermione was there, sobbing into Draco’s shoulder and saving him from giving her another excuse.

He couldn’t face Harry. Not now.

The night dragged on. They had gathered in the Great Hall, where the House tables had been replaced and everyone was sitting in strange, random combinations, chatting and celebrating. News came tumbling in by the hour. Death Eaters were being captured. Kingsley had been named temporary Minister of Magic. 

Everyone wanted a piece of Harry, so he was never alone, not for a moment. People kept encouraging him to go stake his claim, but Draco always refused. He felt strangely wrung out. He wished he could sleep for a month before he had to face Harry. 

He mostly stayed close to his mother. Her presence was calming in the same way it had been when he’d been a small child. He was vaguely aware that his father was still around, too. He had seen him sitting by himself somewhere, watching them, but he hadn’t approached them yet, and Draco hoped he wouldn’t. 

Then, suddenly, Harry’s voice whispered in his ear, startling him. 

“Meet me outside,” he whispered.

Draco looked around, but he couldn’t see anyone. His first thought was that he was hallucinating, but then he realised that Harry was most probably wearing the Cloak. A quick search confirmed that he had disappeared from sight.

“Go,” his mother nudged him. “You can’t hide from him forever.”

Draco sighed before getting to his feet. He took his time getting to the Entrance Hall, but even when he reached it, Harry was nowhere inside.

Maybe it had been a hallucination, after all.

Then, he heard footsteps, and when he turned around, Harry was pulling the Cloak off him, a smile on his face. “Oh, thank Merlin,” he muttered, crossing the distance between them and hugging him tightly. “Hi,” he murmured, voice soft. 

Draco’s throat closed up and his eyes stung.

Then, there were more footsteps and he let go of Draco to allow Hermione to pull him into a bone crushing embrace. Draco stood back, blinking hard, gulping. 

_ Don’t fall apart. Don’t fall apart. Don’t fall apart.  _

Harry took Draco’s hand, breaking him out of his inner mantra. He started walking, leading them up the stairs - the very stairs he had left Draco on as he had gone to walk into his own death, Draco couldn’t help but think. 

As they walked, Harry started explaining. He told them how Snape’s memories had been a message for him; how he had been working for Dumbledore all along. Dumbledore had arranged his own death with Snape, aware that his end had been near, since the Gaunt ring had left a curse on him he couldn’t break. Draco remembered his blackened hand, making the connection. He had chosen to end his life at a convenient time rather than succumb to the curse, spinning the narration in a way that would allow Snape to prove his loyalty to the Dark Lord and become the ultimate chess piece. It had been him, naturally, who had handed them the sword. He had been sabotaging the Dark Lord from within all year, without anyone noticing. 

There were holes in Harry’s explanation, Draco was faintly aware. He still didn’t tell them how Dumbledore had known to trust Snape. Draco had a feeling that Harry knew more than he let on but was unwilling to talk about it, not at this point. In any case, Draco had no energy to push him about it.

Instead, Harry launched into a retelling of what had happened the night the Dark Lord had gone after Harry and his parents. It appeared that when he had tried to kill baby Harry and the spell had backfired due to Lily’s protection, the Dark Lord’s soul had already been so fragile due to all the previous splits that it had split again, quite accidentally. The new Horcrux, which the Dark Lord had never intended to make, had clung to the only living thing in its vicinity - Harry.

And so, Harry had lived with the Horcrux inside of him all these years, his connection to the Dark Lord growing stronger as he gained power.

He didn’t need to say the words for Draco to understand what that meant: The Horcrux within Harry had kept the Dark Lord alive, which meant he couldn’t be killed without Harry dying first.

That was why he had gone to the Forest to give himself up.

It made sense. Rational sense. That didn’t make it hurt any less. It didn’t stop Draco’s fingers from trembling, his throat from burning and his eyes from overflowing with tears. 

Harry paused for a moment to kiss his temple and squeeze his hand, probably in silent apology. Then, he turned to the gargoyle that guided the Headmaster’s study, which had been knocked aside and was now lying on the ground. Until then, Draco had been unaware where they’d been heading. 

“Can we go up?” Harry asked the gargoyle. 

“Feel free,” the statue muttered, sounding rather grumpy.

Harry led them up the spiral staircase until they reached the door, which he pushed open. The moment they stepped inside, applause erupted. The noise made Draco flinch until he realised it came from the portraits of the former Headmasters all around the walls. They were sobbing and dancing and shaking hands. Harry’s gaze, though, was solely focused on the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who was openly crying, looking both proud and grateful. Draco had to look away, feeling resentment rising up inside of him like poison, hot and deadly. 

Dumbledore had known, and he had played Harry like a chess piece. He’d never forgive him for that.

Harry, though, seemed to hold no such grudges. “The thing that was hidden in the Snitch,” he said, addressing Dumbledore, “I dropped it in the Forest. I don’t know exactly where, but I’m not going to go looking for it again. Do you agree?”

“My dear boy, I do,” Dumbledore answered, his voice rough. Draco could tell that they were discussing the Resurrection Stone. A part of him wondered if Harry had used it. He knew he wouldn’t ask. “A wise and courageous decision, but no less than I would have expected of you. Does anyone else know where it fell?”

“No one,” Harry said. “I’m going to keep Ignotus’ present, though.” The Cloak, Draco’s mind supplied.

“But of course, Harry! It is yours forever, until you pass it on!”

“And then there’s this.” Draco looked up to see Harry holding the Elder Wand in his hand. “I don’t want it,” he announced.

“What?” Weasley spluttered. “Are you mental?”

“I know it’s powerful,” Harry sighed, “But I’m happier with mine. So I’m putting the Elder Wand back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won’t it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That’ll be the end of it.”

Dumbledore nodded and they exchanged a smile. 

“Are you sure?” Weasley muttered, a clear note of longing in his voice.

“I think Harry’s right,” Hermione whispered.

“That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” Harry shook his head turning back to them. “And quite honestly,” he brushed his lips against Draco’s temple before continuing, “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”

Silence followed his words. Draco couldn’t look at Harry but he could feel the other boy’s eyes on his face. 

“We should head back,” Weasley said, at last. “Mum will be a nightmare if we disappear for too long.”

“You go ahead,” Harry said, his voice soft. “I think Draco and I… It’s been one heck of a day. We really need to sleep.”

“Oh, of course!” Weasley said, perking up. “Just let me tell Mum and we’ll all go back to the Burrow together -”

“No,” Harry interrupted him. “I mean, I think it’s better if Draco and I go over to Andromeda’s tonight. It’s just… it’s been a lot, Ron.”

Weasley’s face fell, but Hermione stepped in before he could respond, nodding. “Of course,” she smiled. “You deserve some privacy, after everything. We’ll tell the Weasleys, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiled at her. “I’ll drop by tomorrow, okay?”

“Of course,” she nodded. She hesitated, then she added: “I’ll tell Narcissa that you left, too, shall I?”

“Perfect,” Harry’s tone was grateful.

“Have a good night, then.”

“You, too.”

It was strange, suddenly being alone with Harry. Draco felt like he’d been wrapped in a thick wrapper of cotton, separating him from Harry, from the rest of the world and from himself, and now, Harry was very clearly trying to pierce that. Harry’s arm was around his shoulder. He wasn’t sure when he’d placed it there.

“Let’s go,” Harry breathed.

Draco just went, no verbal answer, but no protest, either. Harry was watching him, he knew. He couldn’t meet his eyes. 

They made their way through the corridors, back into the Entrance Hall and out of the castle. There, Harry pulled him close and disapparated.

They appeared just outside of Andromeda’s garden, far enough to avoid the wards. Then, Harry’s arm wrapped around his shoulders again and he led them towards the open gate in the garden fence. They passed the wards without issue - after all, Draco was family, and there was probably an exception in the spell for Harry.

They entered through the back door and found the kitchen crowded: Andromeda and Ted were sitting at the table, talking quietly over their cups of tea. On the other side of the table sat their daughter, who was cradling her son. Remus stood at her back, watching them with a fond smile. 

They all looked up when the two of them entered. Andromeda got to her feet with a tight smile.

“Draco,” she breathed. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, my boy…”

Draco found himself enveloped in her arms before he could say anything. His aunt, thankfully, didn’t need his input, though, and neither did her husband when he came to greet him with a large smile. 

When they released him, Dora was already pushing her son into Harry’s arm. “Time to say hello to your godson, you two,” she announced, beaming.

Draco felt choked again, watching Harry hold little Teddy. The baby was watching Harry with curious eyes and then, his formerly purple hair turned green - the colour of Harry’s eyes. 

It was all too much. Draco took a shaky breath and turned to Andromeda.

“Is my room still free?” he asked.

“Of course,” she smiled at him. “You can have it for as long as you need it.”

Draco nodded, then muttered: “Excuse me.” He didn’t look at anyone as he made his way across the house until he finally found the old, small guest room, relieved when he could finally close the door behind him. 

Everything looked the same as it had the day he had left for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Even the clothes he had disregarded onto his bed still lay there. Draco gulped and moved across the room to pick them up. On autopilot, he opened his cupboard. All the clothes he had left behind were still there, too. He hung up the ones he was holding and searched for fresh pyjamas. Then, he started changing. 

He was just doing up the last buttons when the door opened and Harry walked in. He sent him a tentative smile, but it quickly vanished when Draco didn’t return it.

“Hey,” he breathed, frowning. “Are you… alright?”

Draco didn’t know what to say. So he opted to ignore the question. 

“You can borrow something to sleep in,” he told Harry instead. “We should -”

“No,” Harry cut him off, and then, he was in front of Draco, turning the other boy to face him. Green eyes were determined as they met Draco’s. “I know something’s wrong, and it’s probably my fault. If you’re mad at me, tell me, but don’t do this.”

Draco was silent for a long moment. Something rose up inside of him. He tried to press down on, but it became increasingly difficult.

“Draco?” Harry whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek.

Draco flinched away. Harry’s eyes widened. 

Draco was trembling now. 

“I don’t want to do this,” he ground out.

“No, we are going to do this,” Harry shook his head. “Tell me how to fix this.”

_ Fix this? _ Something about Harry’s words brought the tears back to Draco’s eyes and he rounded on him, words spilling out of him without his conscious input. 

“Fix what?!” he snapped. “You left me behind, Harry! You left, and you didn’t care about what you’d break in the process, and now you want to fix it?!”

Harry was pale as he looked at him. He shook his head. “Draco -” he whispered.

“You  _ promised _ you wouldn’t do it!” Draco yelled. “I asked to come with you, and you  _ promised _ you wouldn’t do something like that. I was waiting for you! And you, what, walked past me, like I didn’t matter?!”

“That’s not what happened!” Harry called, and his eyes were glistening now, too. 

“You didn’t even bother to say goodbye!” Draco shouted, and the pain was everywhere again, in every part of his body, just as it had been when he had thought Harry was dead. “I had to watch him kill you through that stupid necklace!”

“Oh, God!” Harry moaned, covering his face. “I - that was never the plan, Draco! Please, believe me! I -”

“Right, obviously, I was supposed to hear it along with everyone else, or else you’d have fucking  _ talked to me!”  _ Draco hissed.

“I couldn’t say goodbye to you!” Harry shouted, and tears were running down his cheeks now, too. “How do you expect me to be able to do that?! I love you, you moron! If I had stopped to do that, I’d have never gone through with it! You’d have asked me to stay, and I couldn’t have refused you!”

“SO WHAT?!” Draco shouted. “We’d have found another way! We always do!”

“There was no other way!” Harry shook his head. “I had to do this! Don’t you understand?”

“No, I don’t!” Draco called. His face was wet and tear-smeared and he knew that the whole house was probably listening but he didn’t care. All these years, he had been rational and loyal and he had given everything to Harry and for the bloody  _ cause _ , and this was the bloody outcome?! He didn’t want to pretend that he was okay with it anymore. He couldn’t. 

“Draco,” Harry breathed, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you. But please believe me when I say that I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” Draco argued. “You just didn’t choose me.”

“I chose you,” Harry argued. “I chose for you to live. I knew you wouldn’t be able to survive if I didn’t give myself up. I wanted you to live.”

“How many times have I told you that I don’t want a life without you?!” Draco shouted. “Your sacrifice was worthless to me!”

Harry blinked rapidly. More tears escaped his eyelids. Then, he took a tentative step towards him. “I survived, Draco,” I breathed. “It’s over. You don’t have to live without me.”

“No thanks to you,” Draco shook his head.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Harry continued, taking another step towards him. “I wished I could have avoided it. I wished there had been another way. But there wasn’t, not for me. This was the path I chose, and I’m sorry for everything it did to you. But it doesn’t change a thing, Draco. I still love you more than anything, and you were the last thing I thought of before the killing curse hit me. You were a huge reason I came back. Because I want to live with you,  _ for _ you.”

Draco was trembling again, violently. He let Harry reach out for him when he tried this time, didn’t resist when the other boy pulled him into his arms. 

“I love you,” Harry repeated. “Please, forgive me, Draco.” Draco allowed himself to rest against Harry, crying into him while Harry held him tight. He kept murmuring: “I’m sorry,” and, “I love you,” and, “I won’t leave you again.”

Eventually, Draco had cried himself dry and the exhaustion had caught up with him, to the point where it became difficult just to stand up. Harry manoeuvred them onto the bed and pulled the duvet over them, keeping Draco’s body close against his.

“Sleep,” he whispered. 

And Draco did, with his ear pressed up against Harry’s chest so he could listen to his heartbeat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... 4 more post-war chapters + one non-canon-related epilogue to go :)


	22. Chapter Twenty-One: Living On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> welcome to the post-war section of this story :) Thank you to all the readers who've made it this far! I hope you'll enjoy this part as much as the rest of the story. 
> 
> Not going to keep you waiting much longer, just want to remind you once more that, if you want to follow me on twitter, please send me a direct message via @IntoBlondPrats2 and tell me you are one of my readers. I will then give you the link to my actual twitter account and approve you. I had some follower requests lately that I had to decline bc they didn't introduce themselves and I couldn't tell who they were from their profiles. If that was you, I am sorry, it was nothing personal, I am just very protective of my account. I have gotten enough attacks (both in terms of direct harassment and people filing complaints about me towards twitter, causing me to lose my account) to make such measures necessary. So, please, just drop me a message to introduce yourself, and I won't have to angst about who I am going to open my account to :)
> 
> Now, enough about that. Please enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> WARNINGS: PTSD

When Draco woke up the next morning, it took him a moment to take stock of the situation.

He was in his room in Andromeda’s house.

Harry was holding him.

The war was over.

Harry had won against the Dark Lord, but not before the Dark Lord had murdered Harry.

Draco shuddered and Harry’s arms around Draco tightened.

“You’re awake,” he whispered.

“What time is it?” Draco asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “I wanted to let you sleep.”

Draco nodded. Then, he sat up. Harry’s arms around him loosened to let him move. 

Draco glanced at Harry. His hair was a mess and his skin was still flecked with dirt from last night’s fight. He was wearing the same T-shirt he had throughout the whole battle, but he had kicked off his jeans and had opted to sleep only in his boxers. 

“We both need showers,” Draco said pragmatically. 

“Yeah,” Harry frowned, his eyes flickering down to himself. “I’ll have to borrow something of yours until I pick up my things from the Burrow.”

“There’s enough in the cupboard,” Draco shrugged. “Help yourself.” He hesitated, then he asked: “Are you going to stay with the Weasleys again?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I’ll stay with you. I mean,” he gulped. “I hope that’s alright with Andromeda. I’ll have to talk to her first. But I don’t like the idea of being separated from you.”

Draco gave him some strange mix between a shrug and a nod. Harry just looked at him as he got to his feet.

Andromeda and Ted were to be found in the kitchen. They both smiled at them warmly and Andromeda fussed in a way that was a bit unlike her, if Draco was honest, but Draco didn’t blame her. He’d been gone for a long time. They’d all been. 

“Dora and Remus are back at their house with Teddy,” she explained as she handed Draco and Harry a plate of scrambled eggs each. “And Narcissa is at the safe house for the moment, handling some things.”

Draco frowned. “Why didn’t she come here?” he asked. 

She hesitated before meeting his eyes. “She went there with your father,” his aunt told him gently.

Draco felt cold all over. “What?” he ground out.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, reaching for his hand, but he pulled it away. He was staring at his aunt, anger boiling inside of him. “She’s going back to him?!” he snapped.

“I’m not sure what she’s doing, Draco,” she shook her head, looking sad. “It’s her decision.”

“He stood by when I was tortured!” Draco said, his voice rising. “You can’t tell me she’s honestly going to go back to playing happy family after that!”

“Draco, there’s something you should know,” Harry said urgently. 

“What?!” Draco hissed, turning on him.

He didn’t understand what was going on. At least when it came to Lucius Malfoy, Harry had always been on his side. And now, he looked at Draco like he was the unreasonable one?!

“Your father - he saved my life in the Forest yesterday,” Harry said. “After I was - after he killed me, and it didn’t - take, I guess, he sent Lucius to check whether I was really dead. And when he realised I wasn’t, he asked me if you were alive. I nodded, and he told them I was dead. He lied to get to you. I couldn’t have ended this war without him.”

Draco stared at him, long and hard. The silence around the table was total.

“Listen, kiddo,” Ted sighed. “You don’t have to forgive him. I’m not sure I would, in your position. But your mother is an adult, and she has to make her own choices.”

Draco turned back to his plate, staring at his eggs. They could have as well been worms for all he felt like eating them all of a sudden.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, trying to reach out for him again, but Draco got to his feet, pushing away from the table.

“I need a shower,” he announced. 

He could feel all eyes on his back as he retreated, but he didn’t look back at them.

“Do you want to come to the Burrow with me?” Harry asked tentatively, watching Draco as he sat cowering in a corner of his bed, his nose stuck in an old Alchemy book. 

Draco shook his head, not looking up. Harry sighed. 

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’ll be back by dinner. I’ll bring your things from Hermione’s beaded bag, too.” He hesitated, before adding: “Rest. I’ll tell everyone you said ‘Hi’.”

Draco just nodded. He didn’t look up as Harry retreated, closing the door behind him. 

That evening, Harry returned with Hermione in tow. He left the two of them to it for a while, letting them sort through all the books and nicknack Hermione had taken along that had originally been Draco’s. Draco was taciturn as they worked, and he was aware that his friend was watching him.

“Are you okay?” she asked, at last. “You seem… down.”

“I’m fine,” Draco lied.

She looked at him, clearly unhappy with his answer. “You don’t have to be, you know,” she murmured. “If something’s on your mind, we’re here for you. Me, Harry, or even Ginny, Remus… Whoever you need, we’ll listen.”

That was all great, Draco thought, but even if he wanted to talk, he had no idea what he would say. How did you put into words that, even though you’d won the war, even though everything was supposed to be amazing, it wasn’t, and you didn’t really know what was wrong?

“I’m fine,” Draco only repeated, picking up one of the books she had returned to him and flicking through it. “Thanks for the offer.”

Hermione sighed, but she gave it a rest, and Draco was grateful.

“Are you still angry with me?” Harry asked Draco as they went to bed that night, his voice terribly small. 

_ Yes,  _ the bitter, nasty part of Draco thought, but he knew that wasn’t right. He wasn’t angry, exactly. He didn’t know what he felt. 

He felt empty, mostly.

So Draco forced his voice to soften as he answered: “No.”

Harry’s arms were around him immediately, holding him as if he was something breakable.

“I love you,” Harry breathed, and his voice hitched.

“I love you, too,” Draco answered.

That, at least, was the truth.

His mother came over for lunch the next morning. She took one look at her son’s face and let out a sad sigh.

“Darling,” she whispered. “Please, listen.”

“Are you going back to him?” Draco demanded, his voice hard.

She hesitated. “I haven’t decided yet,” she replied. “But for now, we are still married, and that means something to me, even if you can’t quite understand that.”

“You know what he’s done,” Draco breathed. “What he’s done while you were in hiding, too?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice heavy. “He told me everything. He regrets it very much.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Draco snapped.

“Language, Draco,” Narcissa sighed.

“No!” Draco called, getting to his feet. “He gets to stand by while I get fucking tortured and I get scolded for not minding my language?! That’s not how it works, Mother!”

She was silent for a long moment. She looked very, very sad. 

“Did Harry tell you what he’s done?” she asked. "At the end, in the -"

“I don’t care!” Draco shouted. “It’s too little, too late! One good deed doesn’t redeem a hundred bad ones!”

“He loves you, Draco,” Narcissa breathed. “He made a lot of mistakes, but -”

“That’s not love, Mother!” Draco spat. “The way he behaved - nothing about that was love! He loves no one but himself!”

Narcissa shook her head. “I see I can’t change your mind,” she muttered. “And it’s your right to be angry. You haven’t known any kindness from him for a long time. Maybe one day, you’ll be able to see past your anger -”

“I shouldn’t have to,” Draco interrupted her, his voice hard.

She sighed deeply. Then, she took a deep breath, before she continued: “It’s your choice, and I’ll respect that. But please, try to respect my choice of… being a wife to him for as long as I’ll be allowed to. We can’t be sure of the future at the moment. He’ll be put on trial, and if he goes to Azkaban, he might not come back.”

“He doesn’t deserve to,” Draco whispered.

She didn’t answer. Then, she asked, in a forcibly calm voice: “I guess it would be futile, asking you to give testimony at his tria-”

“No,” Draco interrupted her, his voice hard. “I won’t do it. I won’t ever see him again or be associated with him. I don’t have a father anymore.”

Narcissa gulped. “I see,” she nodded.

Draco thought it was no coincidence that Remus and Dora visited that afternoon with the baby.

“Teddy wanted to see Uncle Draco,” Dora beamed.

Draco wanted to point out that Teddy, at two months old, couldn’t care less about visiting Draco, who he’d only seen once in his life, and that in passing, but at that moment, Teddy’s hair turned from mouse grey to blond. Draco raised his eyebrows, the words dying in his throat. 

Draco had never had to interact with babies before. He’d been the youngest in his family up until now, and even when it came to younger kids at Hogwarts, he’d usually kept his distance until they’d hit at least puberty. 

Now, he found himself with a baby in his arms, Dora gently adjusting his position or giving him advice, and it was a bit overwhelming, to be honest. What if he dropped his godson? That would make him the worst godfather in the history of godfathers.

But he didn’t drop him, and Teddy didn’t voice any displeasure at being held by him. Much the contrary: He kept batting at his hair, which he seemed to find utterly fascinating.

“I know, buddy,” Harry commented from the armchair, watching the scene with a soft smile. “I can relate.”

Teddy made a soft gurgling sound, as if he’d understood, and Dora laughed.

Eventually, Teddy was shifted into Harry’s arms and Draco went into the kitchen to wipe off the drool he’d left in his wake. Remus followed him.

“He likes you,” Remus told him.

“He’s a baby,” Draco scoffed. “He likes everyone and no one.”

“Now, now,” Remus chuckled. “Don’t burst our bubble. Let us have our fun.”

Draco snorted, holding his hands under the running water. Remus studied him.

“Are you alright, Draco?” he asked, at last.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Who sent you?” he challenged. “Harry? My mother? Hermione?”

“No one, actually,” he parried Draco’s accusations. “You simply seem a bit off, and after what happened at the final battle… I wouldn’t be surprised if you were still gnawing on that, is all.”

Draco gulped. He turned off the water and grabbed the towel to dry off his hand. He glanced at Remus and then looked out through the window.

It was raining. The weather matched Draco’s mood.

“I’m not sure what’s wrong,” Draco admitted. “I just feel weird.”

Remus nodded, leaning against the counter and giving him his full attention. “Weird how?” he asked. 

“Not myself,” Draco tried. “I’m all over the place. One moment, I don’t feel anything. Like I was drained and I’m fresh out of emotion. And then, the next moment, I get really angry.” 

“I see,” Remus frowned. “Angry at what, may I ask? Do you have something that triggers you, or -”

“Everything triggers me,” Draco shrugged. “Some is rational, some isn’t.”

“I think this makes sense,” Remus said. “You probably don’t see it that way, but the things you’ve been through, Draco… Your childhood - and adolescence, for that matter - has thoroughly been compromised by this war. And now it’s over. This is all catching up to you. I think it would be inhuman if you hadn’t carried away a trauma or two from the experience.”

“I don’t have any reason to complain,” Draco reminded him. “Everyone I care about survived. We won. I -”

“Draco, this is not how this works,” Remus shook his head. “We’ve all been victims of this war, no matter what we had to pay throughout. This is not a competition. Just because others have suffered more doesn’t mean your suffering is any less real. You get to feel this. You  _ need _ to, even. Otherwise, it will haunt you forever.”

Draco stared at him. “So I can’t just make it go away?” he asked.

“No,” Remus smiled. “The mind isn’t as easily healed as the body, Draco. You can take potions to fix the symptoms, but it won’t fix the problem. Only time and hard work can do that. You need to work through this.”

“How?” Draco asked.

“That’s up to you,” Remus sighed. “Talking helps, in my experience. Being surrounded by people who love you, and who you love. You can lean on them when things get rough. They might not always understand, but they can listen. If that doesn’t help, there are mind healers who specialise on helping you deal with trauma or depression.”

None of these options sounded especially appealing, Draco thought privately. Thankfully, he was saved from saying so when Harry disappeared in the kitchen door, looking flustered.

“Teddy was hungry,” he explained, and Draco realised that his cousin had likely whipped out her boobs and started feeding, taking Harry by surprise. 

“You’ll have to get used to that now,” Remus smiled. 

“I know, I know,” Harry sighed, rubbing his face. “It was just - sudden, okay?” Then, he looked from Draco to Remus. “Did I interrupt something? Should I go back?”

“It’s fine,” Draco waved him off. He saw Harry's and Remus’ gaze hold for a moment and wondered what they were wordlessly communicating. Was everyone having conversations about him behind his back, or even in front of his face? 

He refrained from commenting, though. Instead, he turned to the cupboard to look for pumpkin juice. “You want something to drink?” he asked.

“Sure,” the two of them chorused.

He took his time pouring them all a glass. When he turned back, they acted as if they hadn’t silently conversed about him. 

“I’ll go bring this to Dora,” he announced, pointing to the other glass. Without waiting for a response, he left the kitchen.

Now, they could talk about him without minding his presence, the thought grimly.

Dora was sat on the couch, looking content as she fed Teddy. She smiled at Draco as he sat next to her.

“I brought you some juice,” he said, putting the glass onto the table.

“Thanks,” she chuckled. Then, she nodded to the kitchen. “I think I traumatised your man.”

“Straight and bi guys, I swear to Merlin,” Draco rolled his eyes and Dora cackled. 

The next couple of days were a bit of a haze for Draco. They were invited to funerals - various funerals, actually, but the only ones they went to were those of Lavender Brown and Colin Creevey. The whole DA attended both ceremonies. 

Draco ended up awkwardly comforting an inconsolable Parvati Patil. He had never really understood what the other girl had seen in him, but if there was any way he could give her solace in the face of her best friend’s death, he was not going to question it. Even Harry didn’t show any signs of jealousy as she clung to him, crying into his shoulder. 

When they weren’t among mourners, Harry was alternating his time between Draco, the Weasleys and the Ministry. He knew that Kingsley relied on his help both in the preparation of the Death Eaters’ trials as well as the process of tracking down the remaining ones, and Harry was eager to provide it. (Not that Harry went out for actual Auror missions with them. Harry had promised Draco that much. Though Draco knew it was only a matter of time before Kingsley offered him a position. He wasn’t stupid.) Draco thought that, after being in the centre of the action for so long, he found it hard to just sit back and do nothing.

Draco, on the other hand, was happy to keep to himself. He found his time around other people awfully exhausting. He mostly spent his hours in a quiet corner with a book and a cup of tea, only Aquila and Hedwig for company, if at all. 

Eventually, though, even he couldn’t dodge Mrs Weasley’s invitations anymore, especially when Harry had already made so many excuses for him, and  _ especially  _ when Arthur and Molly Weasley decided to celebrate their wedding anniversary in a manner that involved inviting everyone and their neighbours to the Burrow.

“They want to give us all an opportunity to celebrate and get together,” Harry told him softly when Draco dragged his feet. “Things have been so crazy for such a long time. This is supposed to bring back a piece of normality.”

Draco wanted to point out that nothing felt normal anymore, though, so going to a bloody party in the aftermath of all these funerals felt like a farce. He didn’t, though. He knew the Weasleys meant well. He knew that  _ Harry _ meant well. None of them was responsible for Draco’s moods. 

The Weasleys had build up tables in their garden, and everyone was loud and cheery. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were chatting with Ryan a table over, and the volume of their combined voices gave Draco a headache. Harry was standing with Remus, fussing over Teddy. Hermione and Weasley were talking to Hagrid. Weasley had his arm casually slung around Hermione. Narcissa was sitting with Andromeda and Ted. He could see her throwing him concerned glances every once in a while. Draco didn’t want to talk to her, though. All she would do was nag about his father, and Draco wasn’t ready to have this conversation again.

So Draco got to his feet and made his way into the house, sighing in relief when the door to the living room fell shut behind him, drowning out some of the noise from outside. He gingerly sat down in one of the armchairs, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. 

His absence remained unnoticed for all of five minutes, if that. Then, the door opened, and Ginny poked her head inside. 

“Hey you,” she sent him a small smile. “Who are you hiding from?”

“No one,” Draco muttered. “Everyone.”

Ginny hummed. She stepped into the room and took a seat on the couch, watching him with a thoughtful look on her face. “You know, Harry is practically sitting on his feet out there,” she commented. “He wants to check up on you, but he also doesn’t want to crowd you. It’s a bit pathetic, but also really adorable.”

“He’s talking to everyone about me behind my back, isn’t he,” Draco muttered, more bite in his voice than he had intended.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Actually, he hasn’t said a thing to me,” she explained. “It was obvious from looking at him.”

“Oh,” Draco said, feeling stupid.

“But I wouldn’t blame him if he had,” Ginny continued. “If you’re not talking  _ to  _ us, then that’s what happens, you know.” Draco remained silent, aware that he’d been called out. Ginny sighed. “Look, Draco, I gather that you’re going through a tough spot, and that’s fine. It’s normal, even. I would be worried if you weren’t, to be honest. The war… It messed all of us up big time. I burst into tears last week because Fred ate my dessert. Ryan has nightmares. We all have our packages to carry. You are not alone.”

Draco gulped, trying to process what Ginny had told him. She just looked at him, and then he nudged his foot with her sandaled one. 

“I have no idea what’s going on with you,” Ginny admitted. “I wasn’t with you on that camping trip. I don’t know what happened there. But I was there at the end, when we thought Harry had -” Draco flinched, turning his face away. Ginny held in, watching his profile, before pressing on: “I saw what happened to you there, and I think it’s natural that you took away some sort of trauma from that. But we’re here to help, okay? You’ve got a lot of people who love you. Harry does, obviously, but even if you feel like you can’t talk to him - and that’s okay, too, sometimes the people closest to us are the hardest to talk to - there are others. Me or Ryan. Yurika and Luna. Hermione. Remus, Dora, even my parents… We’re all there if you need us.”

Draco noticed that she had purposefully left out his mother. He wondered if it was obvious that Draco felt uncomfortable around her at the moment. 

“Thanks,” Draco said, clearing his throat. “That’s kind of you to say. It’s just -” His voice caught, and he coughed again, wondering how to express what he couldn’t even get a grasp of himself. “It’s hard to talk about something that I don’t understand, either.”

Ginny nodded, frowning. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Draco wasn’t sure if he had just caught her off-guard with his response, or if there was something she wanted to say but didn’t know if she should.

He didn’t find out, though, because at that moment, the door opened and Hermione appeared in the doorway. She smiled at them shyly. 

“Hey,” she said. “I was looking for Draco. Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Draco shook his head and Ginny pursed her lips. “Come and sit.”

His friend smiled at him and scooched in next to Ginny. She looked good, Draco noted; well-rested and happier than he had seen her in months. Then again, they had been on the run in the months prior. If you weren’t irrationally brooding like Draco, peace was supposed to be an upgrade.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m going to leave for Australia next week,” she smiled at him. “I’m going to go looking for my parents.”

“Oh,” Draco said, his eyes widening. He immediately felt bad that he’d completely forgotten about Hermione’s situation. He’d been too wrapped up in his own issues. “Bloody hell, Hermione. Do you need us to come with you?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” she smiled. “It’s sweet that you’re offering, but it’s not really a job that needs all of us. Ron is accompanying me, and that’s enough.”

“Okay,” Draco blinked, biting his lip. “Well, if you need anything -”

“I know you’ll always be there,” she assured him. “You’ve never disappointed me in that aspect, Draco. Don’t worry. I know how lucky I am to have you as a friend.”

Draco frowned, a bit thrown by the sudden affection. Ginny snickered next to Hermione. “Still can’t handle honest compliments. You’re hopeless, Malfoy.”

Hermione smiled and reached out for Draco’s hand. Draco let her. 

“I don’t think I’ll be gone for more than a month or two,” she told him. “But if you need me, I’m only one enchanted parchment away, okay?”

“Okay,” Draco nodded. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “Truth be told, I’m nervous. What if I can’t reverse the spell? What if something goes wrong?” 

“It won’t,” Draco assured her. “You’re the most competent witch I have ever met, Hermione. And even if there are problems, you can confer with experts in the field.”

“You’re right,” she nodded. “Of course, you’re right.” She paused, then she asked, her voice very small: “What if they’re angry with me?”

Draco squeezed her hand. “You were just trying to protect them,” he breathed. “They’ll forgive you.”

She smiled at him with glassy eyes and then she stood and walked over to hug him tightly. Draco let her, the scent of her bushy hair nice and familiar. 

When she pulled away, she didn’t go far. She perched herself upon the arm of Draco’s chair, watching him. “What about you?” she asked, her voice soft. “How have you been coping?”

Draco sighed, pressing himself back into the chair. “Can everyone please stop analysing me?” he begged. “I feel like a Flobberworm in Care of Magical Creatures class.”

“What a burden, being so loved,” Ginny teased. 

“We do love you, you know,” Hermione emphasised, brushing his hair from his face. “We just want to be here for you.”

“And I appreciate that,” he muttered. “But if I hear one more ‘Are you okay? What’s wrong?’, I might actually scream.”

Hermione chewed on her lip for a long moment, then nodded. “Fine,” she agreed. “We’re just worried, that’s all. Harry is worried.”

“I know he is,” Draco said. “His behaviour makes it very obvious.”

As if they had conjured him, the door opened and Harry appeared. He lingered in the doorway with clear hesitation. 

“Hey,” he said, forcibly casual. “You’re having your own private party?”

Draco glanced at Hermione pointedly. She bit her lip hard, trying not to laugh. Ginny was the one to take pity on him and answer.

“Thought we’d better get out of the way before my boyfriend and my brothers caused some sort of mayhem out there,” she rolled her eyes fondly. “Don’t think I didn’t see them strategise. It’s going to be ugly.”

Harry cracked a smile before meeting Draco’s eyes. His expression was more insecure than it should be, Draco realised, and it made him feel guilty. He made an attempt to soften his expression. 

“Want to join us?” he asked.

Harry’s responding smile brightened his face, like the moon breaking through a cloudy night. 

“I’d love to,” he said.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two: Working Towards The Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Happy Christmas! (Yes, it still counts, it's the 2nd Christmas Day in Germany ;))
> 
> I hope you're having a wonderful holiday, and that this update, as emotional as it is, is going to sweeten it a bit for you. Please enjoy!
> 
> Please note: There is a sex scene in this chapter. If you want to skip it, just look out for the markings ***e*** at the beginning and ***/e/*** at the end.

“Do you have a moment?” Harry asked, kissing Draco’s temple. “There’s something I’d like to talk about.”

Draco frowned, putting his book down. Harry had been at the Ministry the entire morning and most of the afternoon, and he’d returned only minutes ago, joining Draco on the couch, where he’d spent his day in blissful solitude. 

“Is this about you starting at the Auror Office?” Draco asked.

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?” he asked. “No. I mean, Kingsley mentioned it might be an opportunity in the near future, but no official offer has been made.” Draco hummed, waiting. “No, this is something different,” he sighed, biting his lip. He looked worried, Draco realised. “Please promise not to be angry with me. Just… let me speak, okay?”

“That sounds ominous,” Draco noted. 

Harry sighed. He took a deep breath, and then he said, in apparent calmness: “I am going to testify at your father’s trial.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. He stared at Harry.

“I know you’re not going to,” Harry continued, “and I don’t want you to do anything you don’t feel ready to. It’s okay if you don’t feel in the right mindset to do it. He’s treated you horribly, and you have every right to hold this grudge. Merlin knows  _ I  _ am holding a grudge. But…” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair, making them even messier, “he  _ did _ save my life, trying to do right by you at the end, and I think that should be considered in his sentence. I am not going to sugarcoat anything, I promise. I will tell everything as it was - how he treated you, what he did in our second year, how he chose to work for Voldemort a second time around, even though that meant abandoning his family. But I’ll also tell them that he did the right thing in the end. I’m not sure what kind of sentence he deserves,” Harry concluded, at last, “but with my testimony and your mother’s, all facts should be on the table, even if you don’t testify. The ruling should be fair. You won’t ever have to wonder what would have happened if you had bowed to your mother’s will.”

Draco was still staring at him. He wasn’t sure how to respond. A part of him was aware that Harry had most likely practised this speech, as if Draco was as important a judge as the Wizengamot.

“I know this might feel like I’m stepping you in the back,” Harry sighed, “but I’m actually doing it  _ for _ you. I don’t want you to have to wonder.”

“You would have done it without me, too,” Draco muttered. “You’re all about justice.”

“I’m not sure,” Harry frowned. “I’ve been battling with this decision for weeks. The thing is, I still hate him. I hate what he put you through. I hate that he’s demanding things of you now, when he’s done nothing but let you down. So I was close to saying: ‘Fuck justice. He doesn’t deserve it.’”

Draco’s eyebrows rose. “How awfully Slytherin of you,” he commented.

“What can I say,” Harry shrugged sheepishly. “My heart belongs to a Slytherin.” When Draco just chuckled, Harry turned serious again. “But this is exactly why I think I need to testify,” Harry continued. “I want to take this off your shoulders. I want to take the ammunition away from them. Will you let me?”

“You’re a free person, Harry,” Draco sighed. “I can’t tell you what to do.”

“But I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,” Harry clarified. “So if you want to tell me to fuck off, just like your father, then that’s fair. I know I’m meddling. Just go ahead.”

Draco sighed, shaking his head. “You’re meddling because you mean well,” he muttered. “I can’t exactly tell you to fuck off for that. It would be horribly irrational.”

“It doesn’t have to be rational,” Harry shrugged. “Feelings don’t work rationally.”

Yes, Draco was beginning to realise that. That was exactly his problem.

“If you think it’s the right thing to do, you can testify,” Draco shrugged. “I’m not going to be angry, but I’m also not asking you to do it, and I’m not going to be grateful, even if you say you’re doing it for me.”

“I know,” Harry said, smiling gently. He leaned in to press another kiss to his temple. “I don’t need you to be.”

When Draco’s birthday rolled around, he was mostly shocked that more than a month had passed since the war had ended. It really didn’t feel that way at all.

His family had set up a moderately sized birthday brunch for him - only his Aunt, Ted, his mother, Remus, Dora, Teddy and Harry were present, and Draco was grateful that they had held back from throwing a bigger party in Weasley style. The number of people present in the house that day was already scratching the limit of Draco’s endurance, if he was quite honest. It was okay, though, because they were all very respectful of his boundaries - they didn’t make him talk, and the only person who was in any way demanding when it came to his attention was Teddy, and he forgave him easily. The baby’s hair was blonde again and he kept trying to go for Draco’s hair or his food from where Remus was holding him, which Remus was desperately trying to stop. 

“He’s not even hungry,” Dora shook her head in amusement when Teddy whined, trying to clumsily reach for the cup of tea Draco was holding. Draco held it out of his reach, changing the hand and offered Teddy his palm instead. He pulled at his fingers curiously. “He just really likes you. You’ll have your hands full, Uncle Draco.”

“Thank Merlin, we’ll have a regular babysitter,” Remus muttered, adjusting his grip on the squirming bundle of energy in his hand. When Draco raised his eyebrows, he just smiled at him innocently. “Here, you should hold him for a while.”

And that’s how Draco found himself probed and drooled on by his godson at his own birthday brunch. Oh, well. There were worse things, he decided. 

As proven an hour later when everyone got ready to leave. His mother was leaning in to kiss his cheek. Then, she held in, clearly hesitating. She withdrew something from her robe pocket. 

It was a letter. Draco immediately recognised the Malfoy sigil.

“Your father told me to congratulate you on his behalf,” she said. “He wanted you to have this. Maybe -”

Draco didn’t let her finish. He took the letter from her and threw it into the fire. A spark of satisfaction went through him as it was swallowed by the flames of the fireplace.

Narcissa sighed, looking at him sadly. “He’d really like to make amends,” she whispered.

“Well, too bad for him,” Draco snapped.

He didn’t care that his mother looked heartbroken. She didn’t get to expect this of him. He turned his back on her and walked out of the room, not bothering to extend any more goodbyes.

“Where are we going?” Draco grumbled. He was still smarting from his mother’s behaviour earlier and he was, frankly, in no mood for Harry’s birthday surprise. But from the way Harry had looked at him when he’d announced it, he could tell that this was important, so he had kept his mouth shut.

Now, they were walking along a road of some small village he’d never been to. Harry sent him a sheepish smile but continued walking.

“We’re in Hartlea,” he offered, not quite an answer to Draco’s question, but it was something, at least. “It’s two villages over from Presden, where Remus and Dora live.”

“Okay,” Draco said slowly. “That… doesn’t really tell me much.”

Harry laughed. They turned a corner into a side street and then, he gestured to one of the houses. It was cosy, as houses went; it had a small front yard covered in blooming wildflower beds, and the stone walls were covered with ivy. 

Draco looked at Harry, tilting his head. He smiled and walked up to the house. Much to Draco’s surprise, he procured a key, holding the door open to let Draco inside.

“What are you up to?” Draco asked, blinking at him.

“Just go in,” Harry laughed, but he looked oddly shy.

Draco did. The small entrance area led into an open Living-Dining-Kitchen. A cream-coloured three-piece suite was placed in front of the fireplace. A polished, wooden dining table stood in the centre of the room, connecting the space between the antique-looking kitchen and the living area. The stone walls should have made the space appear cold; instead, they fit the style of the room perfectly. 

“There’s a large office space here,” Harry said, pulling him out of his head. He walked over to a door on the far right wall, pulling it open. “I thought you could use it. All your books should find a place here, and Narcissa said you could bring whatever you want from the Manor if you like.” 

Hesitantly, Draco walked over. He was starting to realise what was happening. His heart was beating wildly as he looked at the room Harry was indicating. The walls were full of shelves, and underneath the window stood an elegant desk, not unlike the one his father had owned at the Manor. 

“There’s a small guest bathroom over there,” Harry said, indicating to another door, hidden near the entranceway. “And a bigger one upstairs. And of course, an en-suite.”

“Harry…” Draco whispered, but he didn’t know what to say. 

Harry didn’t wait for him to find the words. Instead, he took his hand and led him up the stairs. “There are two guest bedrooms on this side,” Draco indicated. “I thought we could reserve one for Teddy, seeing that he’ll probably be over all the time. And that room, I could use it as my office. It’s much smaller than yours, but I don’t need as much space. And that,” he concluded, pushing open a door to their left, “would be our bedroom.”

Draco stood and stared. The room was large and bright, big windows on the far wall letting in the light. He could see across the village through the windows. Were they up on a hill here? He hadn’t noticed when they’d walked here.

“The closet is walk-in,” Harry smiled. “I thought you’d appreciate that.”

Draco glanced at the open door to his left, finding enough storage space to fit all their clothes twice over. On the other side, he could see an elegantly-furnished en-suite. There was a tub from what he could spy, and a roof-window. 

“The furniture doesn’t need to stay,” Harry shrugged, indicating to the huge, expensive-looking king-sized bed. “Narcissa helped me make it look more appealing, but we can do whatever you want with the space.  _ If  _ the house appeals to you, I mean. I haven’t signed anything yet. We can still look elsewhere. I just -” he turned to Draco, and his expression was nervous but earnest. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want to spend my life with you, Draco. I want to live with you. I want a future with you. So…” he fumbled, and then, he drew a small box from his jeans pocket.

A ring box. Draco’s heart stopped, then picked up pace again.

“Draco,” he whispered, and then, he went down on one knee in front of him. “I know I asked you before. I know you said yes. But that was before, and the circumstances were different. I want to ask you again, and this time, I want to make it count. My feelings haven’t changed. They won’t ever change. I want to be with you, forever. So… will you marry me?”

Draco’s throat was dry. He needed to gulp a few times before he could speak, and even then, words were… a rare commodity. Draco reached out for Harry’s face with trembling fingers.

“I’ll never change my mind about you,” Draco whispered. 

“Is that a yes?” Harry asked with a small smile.

“What do you think?” Draco smiled back.

Harry grinned, and the pure joy on his face took Draco’s breath away. He reached out for Draco’s left hand, slipping the ring onto his finger. It was a perfect fit. Distractedly, Draco realised that the ring was thick and silver, set with a thin row of diamonds at each edge. In the middle, they met around a larger black diamond. 

It looked elegant, expensive. It also really was a style Draco might have chosen himself. 

Harry got to his feet, pulling Draco against him. When he kissed Draco, it was sweet and intense, and Draco let himself fall into it in a way he hadn’t since the war had ended. He could feel his blood rushing and his heart racing and those sensations were so addictive, so  _ perfect _ that Draco wondered why he hadn’t pursued them for so long.

When Harry pulled away, he used his hand on Draco’s neck to tip Draco’s forehead against his, sighing in contentment. “I missed this,” he whispered.

“So did I,” Draco admitted.

Harry looked up at him, smile still in place. “So, do you like the house?” he asked. “Can you picture yourself living here?”

“I can,” Draco admitted. “How did you even find it?”

“I went house hunting with Narcissa,” Harry shrugged sheepishly. “She helped me narrow down the options to something you might approve of.” He hesitated, then he added: “I think it was her way of taking care of you, since things have been strained between the two of you.”

Draco sighed at that. He leaned his forehead back against Harry’s, closing his eyes.

“Well, I do really like it here,” he admitted. “I think it’s the perfect blend of us. Cosy and elegant. Traditional, but not too stiff.” 

“I think so, too,” Harry smiled. “Also, it’s not too big, but just big enough that we can have space from each other if we need it. And we can invite people over if we want. The Living-Dining area should be enough to host most of our friends. Also, you haven’t seen the garden and the terrace! It’s not huge and there aren’t many plants, which means we won’t need to garden all the time, but we can play with Teddy when he comes over or sit outside when we want to. And no one can watch us because the neighbours have large hedges, and there’s woodland on the other side.”

“You really thought of everything,” Draco chuckled.

“Well,” Harry bit his lip, looking a bit aghast. “I mean… I just really  _ want _ this, you know? This life with you? It’s my go-to fantasy when I’m sad.”

Draco pulled away, scanning his face. He hadn’t realised that Harry had moments when he was struggling - which was stupid of him, because of course, Harry was struggling sometimes, especially with him. Draco hadn’t been easy lately. So that he still cheered himself up by imagining their life together hit him in a tender place.

“I love you,” Draco whispered, his voice slightly rough.

“I love you, too,” Harry breathed. When he brought their lips together again, a soft noise escaped Draco and his fingers curled around the fabric of Harry’s shirt. 

They kissed for a long time, their kiss deepening as time passed. Harry’s fingers burrowed in Draco’s hair, then eased up a little, as if he was afraid of being too pushy, but when Draco sighed against his lips, he tightened them again, kissing Draco harder. 

Their relationship hadn’t been physical since Shell Cottage. All contact since the final battle had been initiated by Harry, and it had been tame at best: a gentle embrace, a brush of a hand, a hand lingering on a shoulder or an arm, a kiss on the face. There had been a barrier between them, and Draco knew it had been of his making. He hadn’t felt ready to touch Harry; some days, he hadn’t even wanted to look at him, no matter how irrational the emotion was. 

But now, it felt like a dam had been broken and want was flooding back into his veins, hot and bubbling like a fresh potion, and Draco pushed his body against Harry’s, his tongue tangling with his, wishing he could melt into one being with him by sheer willpower. 

***e***

Harry picked up on the shift in him and welcomed it with enthusiasm. He pulled at Draco’s clothes and moved them towards the large bed, gently lowering him down onto the soft covers.

“Harry?” Draco wheezed out when the other boy covered his body and kissed down his neck. 

“Hm?” Harry hummed, distracted. 

“Whose bed is this?” he asked. Harry halted and snorted in response.

“I told you, Narcissa helped me choose some furniture,” Harry rolled his eyes, smiling down at him. “We can keep it all, or we can return it. Though I guess, we’ll have to keep it after we shag in it.”

Draco hummed, rolling left and right once before nodding. “Let’s keep it,” he agreed. 

“How accommodating of you,” Harry grinned before going back to molesting his throat with his mouth. “I should always have you make furniture-related decisions when turned on.”

Draco poked him into the side, and Harry grazed his skin with his teeth in retaliation. Draco moaned. 

Harry continued his journey across Draco’s body, exploring, and Draco just leaned back and let him. It felt good like nothing had in a long, long time, and he wondered how he had gone so long without this. The care with which Harry touched him, the tenderness with which he kissed him - all of it made Draco feel more connected to him than he’d felt since that night before they had taken off to Gringotts, and it should have occurred to Draco sooner, to try this. 

They’d always been able to reassure each other physically. This was just a different level of that. 

When Harry took him into his mouth, all rational thought fled his mind. He just felt Harry around him, and then, when Harry’s fingers entered and prepared him, he felt him inside of him, and all of it was so grounding and reassuring that Draco never wanted it to stop.

When Harry finally entered him, their eyes locked and their fingers entwined, it felt like coming home. And suddenly, there were tears in Draco’s eyes. He didn’t even know why.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, halting in his movements. “Do you need me to stop?”

“No!” Draco shook his head, desperately pulling him closer. “Please! Just continue.”

Harry looked stomped and concerned, but he searched Draco’s lips, kissing him deeply, and when Draco returned the kiss just as passionately, he continued moving. 

Tears kept slipping Draco’s eyelids, but he paid them no mind. He just focused on Harry and how the other boy felt against him. Harry held him tightly, like he was afraid Draco was going to break apart if he let go of him, and maybe, Draco felt that way, too, because he clung back just as tightly. Their movements were desperate, matching Draco’s tears. 

Harry was the first one to break. He buried his face in Draco’s neck as he shook, his climax overwhelming him. He didn’t even pull out before he wrapped a hand around Draco. The angle was awkward, but his lips on Draco’s were determined and Draco was strung so tight that he didn’t mind. It only took a few firm strokes before he exploded in a kaleidoscope of sensations that numbed him to everything.

***/e/***

When his eyes next opened, Harry had moved onto his back, pulling Draco across his chest. He was still holding him tightly, stroking his hair. 

“Why are you crying?” Harry asked. His voice was small. Scared. Only then did Draco realise that tears were indeed still running down his cheeks.

Weird.

“I don’t know,” he replied, honest.

Harry gulped. He drew in a deep, shaky breath. “Draco,” he said, “I need to talk to you about something.”

“All right,” Draco said.

“I know we’re not okay,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “There’s no denying that. And I don’t want to point fingers. I just… I think a lot has happened over the last couple of months, if not years, that has messed us up, and I think we need help.” Draco didn’t say anything. He thought he knew where this was going. “I want us to see a mind-healer. Both of us. We could both use it, honestly. I asked around and got high recommendations for someone, and she’d take us both on. We’d have separate sessions, and then, on request, we could also have shared sessions, if we wanted to work on our relationship. And I think we should really do that.” Draco still didn’t answer. Harry’s arms tightened. “I love you,” he whispered. “So much. And I don’t want to lose you. But something is happening here, and I don’t think I can deal with this on my own, Draco. I need help. Let’s both get help. Please?”

Draco focused on taking deep, even breaths. He gulped, trying to reign in the stupid tears. They wouldn’t stop. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said, frustrated. “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I knew? What am I going to tell that mind-healer? ‘Everything sucks, but I don’t know why?’” 

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “You don’t have to have all the answers, Draco. That’s what their job is. They’re going to help you find them.”

Draco frowned. Then, he asked: “Is this about that time when I wore the Horcrux?”

Harry hesitated. “I wished I could say it’s not about that,” he admitted. “But it scared me, Draco. And you’re obviously struggling with something, and you’re not talking to me.”

“I’m not going to kill myself,” he pointed out.

“Good,” Harry nodded, gulping. “I’m… glad to hear that. But I still want us to go. Because whatever you are going through now, if it gets worse, it might take you there, and I won’t take the risk, Draco.”

Draco sighed. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he turned his face to meet Harry’s.

Harry’s expression was open. Sincere fear was written all over his beautiful face, but there was also love and dedication there. No judgement. Yes, Harry knew that he was struggling. Yes, he was afraid because he didn’t understand. But no, he wasn’t blaming him, and he was going to support him no matter what. 

It was that realisation that had the fight draining out of Draco. He nodded.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Let’s do it.”

“Really?” Harry asked, looking hopeful. 

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “I’m not sure I’ll have much to tell the lady, but we can give it a try.”

“It will be fine,” Harry assured him, reaching out to touch his cheek. “As long as you  _ want _ to get better and cooperate, I’m sure it will work out. She’s a professional, after all.”

“Okay,” Draco said, sending him a small smile. Harry leaned in to kiss his lips. Then he swiped his palms over Draco’s cheeks, wiping away his tears, before pulling him close again. 

“Thank you,” he breathed. “I promise, this is the smart thing to do. For both of us. We’ve both been through a lot and we should learn how to deal with it before it eats us up from the inside.”

“Okay,” Draco repeated, leaning into him. “I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Harry breathed. “Really.”

They fell silent after that. Draco felt drained and he thought Harry was, too, but in a way, they had needed this. Draco closed his eyes and nuzzled Harry’s collarbone and Harry’s fingers found their way back into his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who skipped the sex scene: Draco and Harry are able to connect emotionally through the physical intimacy, and Draco realises that it makes sense because they have always communicated well with physical touch. It's so overwhelming to Draco that he starts crying in the middle of the act, but he can't understand why.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three: New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Happy new year! Let's hope it will be a better one than the last!
> 
> Meanwhile, I am back with the new chapter and a much-needed therapy session for the boys. I hope you enjoy it! Please remember that I'm no therapist, but all the sessions in this fic were written through my own experience with therapy (single, not couple). Anything that seems unprofessional is naturally on me. 
> 
> Before you read on, I'd like to point out that I changed the total chapter count for this fic. I went through the file and realised that I double-named some of the not yet posted chapters. Ooops. So, you'll have more chapters to look forward to. The fic has a total of 26 chapters + Epilogue now. (The number here is 28 because of the Author Note I added a while ago). 
> 
> In other news (I wanted to add this for the last update but I forgot): Tumblr User @futo-mOmO created a lovely fanart for this fic, specifically of the scene when Draco saw Harry die through the Amulet! Please check it out!! https://futo-m0m0.tumblr.com/post/637414115227369472/some-fanart-from-the-fic-draco-malfoy-and-the

“What in Merlin’s name is this monstrosity?” Draco demanded, hands on his hips, staring pointedly at the strange misshapen black box Fred and George had dropped in their living room. 

“Don’t ask us,” Fred snorted.

“It’s a gift from Dad,” George added. “He said Harry would know.”

Draco slowly turned to Harry, who was standing in the kitchen, sorting dishes into cupboards with a sheepish expression on his face.

“It’s a television,” he offered, as if that explained everything.

“A what?” Draco asked flatly.

“It’s muggle,” Harry shrugged. “It works on electricity and -”

“We can’t have ecletriticy here, Harry! It won’t work!”

“It’s  _ electricity, _ and don’t worry about that, Arthur fiddled with it and it now runs on magic. It’s his moving-in present for us.”

“And you’re sure it’s safe?” Draco asked dubiously, glancing at the ominous device. “What does it even  _ do?!” _

“I trust Arthur. And it plays films and shows. You’ll like it. It’s relaxing.”

Draco very much doubted that, but he decided to leave the matter alone for now. With another glare at the thing, he picked up another box from the entranceway and carried it over to the kitchen.

Their house looked like pandora’s box had been opened within and its curse had been released. People were walking around everywhere, trying to be helpful - with varying degrees of success. Only ten minutes ago, Draco'd had to break apart a fight that included Ginny, Ryan and their toiletries. Meanwhile, Luna had insisted on painting Teddy’s room, and Draco had relented, because a) it was easier than leading a discussion he couldn’t possibly win, and b) she was actually talented. He was pretty sure Abbas and Killian were just making out upstairs, from the flush on their faces the last time he had passed the guest room, but he was not going to go check on them. 

The doorbell rang and Draco sighed. He put the box he was carrying down next to Harry for him to unpack and went to open the door. He found his mother on the doorstep, surrounded by more boxes.

Oh joy. More things to unpack.

“Hello, Mother,” he sighed, and she smiled at his lack of enthusiasm. 

“How is moving day going, dear?” she asked kindly.

“It is what it is,” he shrugged. He waved his wand and the boxes stacked themselves in the entranceway with the others. “Thanks for all your help.”

“Don’t you worry, darling,” she waved him off. “I’m just glad you like it here. You and Harry should have somewhere to call ‘home’.”

He smiled and they lingered in awkward silence for a couple of moments. Things had been… strange between him and his mother ever since the final battle and Draco hated it. Then again, he couldn’t understand why his mother bothered with his father. Every time he thought about it, his temper flared, so he tried not to.

“I brought you everything I thought you might want from the Manor,” Narcissa shrugged, eventually, clearly attempting to fill the silence. “Of course, you’re free to peruse it yourself should you want to -”

“I’m never going back there,” Draco cut her off, his tone hard.

His mother sighed, looking unhappy.

“It’s still your family home,” she breathed. “You will inherit it eventually.”

“I don’t want it,” Draco shrugged. 

“It’s just a house, Draco,” his mother whispered. “The fact that the Dark Lord resided there can’t taint it permanently.”

“You’re right,” Draco snapped. “It’s  _ just a house.  _ Why should I care what happens to it?”

Narcissa looked at him sadly. “I know you don’t want to be, but you still are the heir to the Malfoy family. You will inherit the Manor and your father’s fortune. You have to -”

“I want  _ no part _ of him,” Draco clarified, his voice cold. “Not his money, not his house,  _ nothing _ . Is that understood?” 

And with that, he turned and picked up one of the boxes. He made his way towards his study and slammed the door shut behind him.

The silence and solitude of the room were grounding. He set the box down and opened it, staring at all the books his mother had chosen to bring from the Manor library. He closed it again and went over to one of his own boxes, deciding to unpack those. Right now, everything from the Manor felt tainted, even though his mother said it was just his imagination. 

Harry came to find him a long time later. He was sure that at least an hour had passed. He had managed to unpack all of his boxes and had even started on the one from the Manor, glaring at each and every book in the process. 

“Hey,” Harry smiled at him softly as he entered the room. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Draco shrugged. “How are things going out there? Did our friends burn down the house already?”

“Not yet,” Harry grinned. “Ginny brought over dinner from Molly. She was clearly worried we’d starve to death on our first night without supervision,” he chuckled. “You want to come and eat?”

“Sure,” Draco nodded, putting away the book he was holding. 

Outside, most of the chaos had indeed vanished. Their friends were gathered around the dining table or in the kitchen, handing out dishes, chatting and laughing. He could smell Steak and Kidney Pie.

Honestly, that many people at one table were almost too many people for Draco’s comfort zone, but they were all his friends and no one was too pushy, so he suffered through it okay. The only time the attention was fully on him was when they toasted to their engagement, and Luna wanted to see the ring.

“It’s so pretty,” she told him solemnly. “And black diamonds keep the Nargles away.”

“That’s why I suggested it!” Ryan called, grinning. “I’m just looking out for you, mate!”

“Don’t tell me you took  _ him _ ring shopping?” Draco asked Harry, slightly appalled.

“I asked Ginny,” Harry pointed out. “Ryan sort of came as a package deal.”

“He did end up finding the ring, though,” Ginny shrugged, grinning. “He’s the pureblood Slytherin, after all. He knew what to look for.”

“I guess he did,” Draco blinked, surprised at the realisation.

“I’m offended at the lack of trust,” Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “I have brilliant taste! Just look at my girlfriend!”

“I’ll give you that,” Draco smiled, and Ryan winked. 

Draco and Harry had their first appointment with Healer Jones on a Tuesday morning. Harry’s appointment was the first, so he left the house ahead of Draco, leaving Draco to nervously sip his morning tea alone until it was time for him to leave. 

The office looked like no medical office Draco had ever been to. The waiting room was furnished with plush armchairs in warm colours, and shelves lined the walls, showing off books and magazines dealing with various topics concerning mental health for the patients to peruse, as well as flyers and decorative nicknack. Motivational posters hung the walls. One said: ‘Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. - Arthur Ashe’ Another: ‘Just because no one else can heal or do your inner work for you doesn’t mean you can, should, or need to do it alone. - Lisa Olivera’

The woman at the reception gave Draco a questionnaire to fill out. He frowned down at the questions, considering them with some trepidation. In the first couple of columns, the questionnaire asked if the patient had suffered from a variety of physical issues, none of which applied to Draco, so he skipped them entirely. Then, he came across the column which asked: ‘ _ During the past week, did you suffer from…  _ feeling down or depressed?’ Draco gulped. His fingers trembled a little as he crossed off the field next to the text. He continued, crossing off points like ‘worry?’, ‘disturbed sleep?’, ‘indefinable feelings of fear’ and ‘listlessness’. The next paragraph read: ‘ _ During the last week, did you feel…’  _ Here, Draco found, much to his dismay, that more answers seemed fitting than in the last one. ‘tense?’ Check. ‘easily irritated?’ Check. ‘frightened?’ Check. ‘that everything is meaningless?’ … Bloody hell. Check. ‘that you just can’t do anything anymore?’ Check. ‘that life is not worthwhile?’

Draco put his pen down, taking a deep breath. No, he told himself, he was not going to walk out of here. He had promised Harry. Harry was the reason why the answer to this was no, he reminded himself. With shaking hands, he picked up the pen again and left that field uncrossed.

‘that you can no longer take any interest in the people and things around you?’ Check. ‘that you can’t cope anymore?’ No check. He could cope. He had Harry. He could do this. And as much as it felt right now that he was losing against a stupid questionnaire, he was stronger than this.

‘that you would be better off if you were dead?’ NEXT.

‘that you can’t enjoy anything anymore?’ Draco aggressively checked that one off. 

‘that you are a disappointment to the people around you?’ Another check. 

The next paragraph was headed off ‘ _ During the past week…’,  _ but Draco found, much to his relief, that it wasn’t half as bad as the last one. He checked off stray columns like ‘did you easily become emotional?’ or ‘did you ever have fleeting images of any upsetting event(s) that you have experienced?’, as well as ‘did you ever have to do your best to put aside thoughts about any upsetting event(s)?’

When he was done, he hesitated for a moment before handing the questionnaire back to the lady at the front desk. She smiled at him as she received it. Then he sat back down, waiting.

Eventually, the door to the practitioner room opened and Harry stepped out. Draco heard him thank Healer Jones before he closed the door behind himself. Then, he turned the corner to peek into the waiting room, smiling at Draco.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Draco returned. “How was it?”

“Good,” Harry nodded encouragingly. “She’s nice. I think you’ll like her.”

“Okay,” Draco said. He was kneading his fingers, and he knew Harry could tell that he was nervous. He stepped into the room, bending down to kiss his forehead.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” he whispered. “I’m proud of you for agreeing to it. I know this isn’t easy. But I think it will be good for us.”

Draco nodded. He held Harry’s eyes for a moment before his name was called. 

Healer Jones was a small but big woman in her forties. She smiled and shook Draco’s hand as he entered the room, gesturing for him to take a seat. Draco took a moment to take in the room. It was similarly decorated as the waiting room, with bookshelves, plush armchairs, a loveseat and a coffee table. Healer Jones had taken one of the armchairs, and Draco took the other, trying to get comfortable, though he felt incredibly tense. He spied his questionnaire on the Healers clipboard, finding that she had taken notes and counted out a score. Draco wondered what her diagnosis was. 

“Mr Malfoy,” she said. Her tone was pleasant; friendly, not in the way people were when they were trying to glaze over bad news or when they were trying to sell something, but when they were honestly trying to make someone feel comfortable. “I’m glad to finally meet you in person. Of course, Mr Potter has told me some things about you, but I try not to make a picture of my patients until I meet them myself.”

“I see,” Draco nodded, licking his lips.

“From what I gathered, it was your partner's wish that you start therapy,” she said. “Usually, we encourage patients to make up their own minds. We think it’s less effective if they aren’t here of their own accord. So for starters, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to tell me why  _ you _ think you should be here. I know Mr Potter's reasons for making your appointments. I’d like to hear your reasons for going along with this idea.”

Draco frowned. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was unsure. 

“Well, I know Harry is very worried about me,” he began. “And I don’t know how to explain to him what’s wrong with me, or how to fix myself. So I thought, if this soothed him, I might give it a try.”

“So you do feel that something is ‘wrong’ with you?” she asked, picking up Draco’s rhetoric. “It’s not just your partner seeing things?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “But I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know how to explain it to you, so I’m not sure how effective this will be. I know this whole thing,” he gestured to the room at large, “is based largely on conversation, and if I can’t express my issues, how is it supposed to help?”

“That’s where I come in, Mr Malfoy,” she smiled. “We can work on finding the source of your issues together and help you find a solution for them. The fact that you recognise that something is amiss and are willing to accept the fact and work on it is already a huge step. It shows great strength.”

“I don’t know about that,” Draco frowned.

“Oh, but it does,” she smiled. “I looked at your questionnaire, for example. You did well articulating what you felt here.” She looked at him. “Can you tell me what it was like for you, filling out that questionnaire?”

Draco gulped. He frowned. “Is it strange if I say it was stressful?” 

“Not at all,” she shook her head. “Can you tell me why?”

“I’m not sure,” Draco shrugged. “It just… sometimes it felt like the answers were almost taunting me, if that makes sense.”

“It’s not easy, accepting that we have a problem,” Healer Jones said gently. “And these questions are meant to draw out all your truths, no matter how uncomfortable. That’s why I said you did well answering truthfully. You could have walked away. You didn’t.”

“I thought about it,” he admitted. “I stayed for Harry.”

“And that’s okay,” she assured him. “If loved ones give us the courage to search for help, that’s not a weakness. Leaning on others is not a weakness, Mr Malfoy. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Draco nodded. He waited for her to tell him what his diagnosis was, but she didn’t. Instead, she asked: “You told me you think something is ‘wrong’ with you. Please tell me why you think so?”

Draco sighed. He tried to gather his thoughts, then he explained: “I should be happy. The war is over and most people I really care about survived. I am engaged to and living with the love of my life. Everything should be perfect. And yet…”

“You’re not happy?” she asked.

“I feel empty,” Draco breathed. “It’s hard to feel joy. And when I feel something, it’s fear or anger. A lot of anger, actually.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “What are you usually angry about?”

“My father,” he replied, without hesitating.

“Why your father?”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “You read the  _ Prophet _ , I’m sure.”

“Even if I did, I’d like to hear it from you,” she pointed out, her voice calm.

“Fine,” he sighed. “My father just… hasn’t been a father to me for a long time. He initially punished me for my friendship with Harry, and then he tried to hurt my friends. Then he joined the Dark Lord when he returned, and effectively placed himself on the opposite side of this war from me. He stood by when I was tortured. And now everyone acts like I’m just supposed to forgive him.”

“Who does?” she asked.

“My mother,” he ground out. “She went back to him. She keeps asking me to give testimony for him or to talk to him. We can’t have a conversation without her mentioning him.”

“And that angers you,” she commented, “rightfully so, from what you just told me.”

“I have every right to be angry!” Draco insisted. “My father hasn’t acted like a father! I’m not going to pretend to be a loving son now!”

“Why does your mother expect you to reconsider your stance?” Healer Jones asked.

“Because my father didn’t give Harry away in front of the Dark Lord in the end,” Draco sighed, crossing his arms. “He asked him to confirm his… death, in the Forest. And apparently, he didn’t, because he wanted to get to me. But,” Draco continued, incensed, “does one right right all the wrongs he’s done?! Yes, he saved Harry, but he didn’t even do it because it was the right thing to do or because he knew how much I loved him! He did it because he wanted to suck up to me! It was all calculated! What would he have done if I had been dead, let the Dark Lord kill Harry all over again?!”

“I see your point,” she nodded. “What does Mr Potter say?”

“Harry is going to testify,” he huffed. “But he says he’s doing it so that I don’t have to, and that he wouldn’t have done it if I had told him not to. I think he hasn’t forgiven him, and he won’t tell me to, either, which is… something.”

“I think your fiancé considers your feelings very much,” she nodded, smiling. “He seemed very occupied with what you were thinking and feeling. It must feel good, to have such support.”

Draco bit his lip. He frowned and nodded. “I guess so,” he said.

“You don’t sound sure,” she observed.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I feel like I’m just worrying him most of the time. And then there are times when I just…” He glanced at his hands. He couldn’t say this out loud, could he?

“This is a safe space, Mr Malfoy,” she told him softly. “It will all stay between us.”

“This sounds horrible,” he breathed. “But there are times when I don’t want him around. Or when I don’t believe he’s being honest.”

“Can I ask why?” she prodded.

“I…” Draco hesitated. He took a deep breath and sunk back in his chair. His voice was small when he answered: “Because deep down I think he doesn’t really mean it when he says he loves me.”

“Where do you take that away from?” she asked. 

“Experience,” he laughed humourlessly. “But in short, the fact that he left me to go and die during that battle?”

There was a long silence in which Healer Jones seemed to process his words.

“I know it’s not rational,” Draco shook his head. “And it’s probably not fair towards him. I just -”

“It’s all right,” she assured him. “It’s how you feel. There are no wrong answers here, Mr Malfoy. I just need you to be honest with me so we can work through the things that are bothering you. This is a real fear you have, and I'd like to work with it.” He saw her taking a note. “I’d like to revisit this in our next session, Mr Malfoy. For now, I think I have heard enough to say that I have a good picture of the work we have to do. I’d like to meet on a weekly base, if that is alright with you.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded, before frowning. “What exactly is wrong with me?” 

“If you’re asking for a diagnosis,” she said, “I’d say PTSD, which stands for Post-Traumatic Stress-Disorder, accompanied by a depressive episode. That is something we can work on, though,” she stressed. “After everything you went through, it is not surprising for you to have taken away some damage. But our mind is not like our body, Mr Malfoy. We can’t just take a potion or cast a spell for it to heal. It takes time and effort. Mental illness is not something the wizarding society talks much about, so much of the knowledge mind healers uses stems from Muggle psychologists, but that doesn’t make it less effective, I assure you. It will take time, but we will get there.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded. 

“You are allowed to floo me if there is an emergency and you feel like you need emotional support,” she told him. She handed him a card with her floo address. “Even if it is outside of our set appointments or office hours. I’d rather you contact me before you find yourself in a situation you can’t cope with that might have irrevocable consequences otherwise. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he nodded. 

“Good,” she smiled. “I know your fiancé is keen on shared sessions, but I don’t think they’d be conducive at this point. Eventually, we might go there, but for now, I’d like to speak to both of you separately, if that’s okay.”

“That works perfectly for me,” Draco nodded, relieved.

“I thought so,” she nodded, a knowing look on her face. She stood and Draco did, too, reaching out to shake her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Malfoy. I am looking forward to working with you.”

“Thank you,” Draco nodded. “I’ll set an appointment at the front desk?” 

“I think Mr Potter might have already pencilled something in,” she winked at him. “But please confirm.”

He nodded and when he left the room, he didn’t feel quite as unsteady anymore. 

Maybe those sessions wouldn’t be as bad, after all. 

“PTSD?” Harry repeated him, watching from across the kitchen counter, where he wiped off the excess water from their wash up while the dishes sorted themselves back into the cupboards. Draco had told him that he could do it with magic, but Harry liked to do these things by hand. Draco guessed some habits died hard. “And depression?”

“A depressive episode is what she called it,” Draco pointed out. “But I think it comes down to the same thing.”

“I guess so,” Harry nodded. “Well, we share the PTSD, at least. Though I had an inkling that there was something more going on with you.”

“You’ve got PTSD, too?” Draco asked, surprised.

“To be fair, I think half of wizarding Britain’s got PTSD these days,” Harry rolled his eyes. “The difference is that we’re smart enough to get it treated.”

Draco hummed. A part of him had still wondered if Harry was only going along with this so that Draco would go, but it seemed that he had been wrong. It made him feel a little better, and also guilty for even thinking that. Way to be selfish. Harry’s whole world didn’t revolve around him, after all. He of all people knew that. 

“I’m really glad you agreed,” Harry smiled at him softly. “I know this isn’t easy. It’s not for me, either. But I know it’s the right thing to do.” Draco nodded. Harry dropped the cloth into the sink and walked around the counter until he could catch Draco by the hips. “I mean it,” he said earnestly. “I’m proud of you,” he leaned in to kiss him, gentle and lingering. “I love you,” he whispered. 

Draco leaned into the kiss, searching the physical intimacy and the way it made him feel. Harry got the hint and wrapped his arms more firmly around him. Draco hummed into the kiss.

“Let’s go upstairs?” he suggested when the pulled away for air.

Harry smiled and nodded. 

They made love for hours, sweet and unrushed, and Draco forgot everything that was wrong with the world. Draco wished he could always live in this particular universe where only Harry and Draco and their bodies existed. Everything would be much simpler that way. 


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four: Accepting Your Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the new chapter and a surprise guest! Please enjoy :)

There was a knock on the door to Draco’s study. He sighed, lowering his book to his lap and rubbing his temple. 

“Yes?” he asked, exasperated.

Harry opened the door, smiling at him with a sheepish expression. He was already wearing dress robes. “Sorry to disturb you,” he said, “but you have a visitor.”

“If it’s my mother,” Draco snapped, “you can tell her it’s no use, I won’t -”

“It’s not your mother,” Harry interrupted him calmly. 

He stepped aside, and someone else entered the doorway. Draco’s jaw dropped.

“Viktor?” he breathed. “What - what are you doing here?”

“Surprise?” Viktor grinned. “I’m here to see you.”

“But - how?” Draco asked, blinking rapidly.

“Harry and I might have - how do you say?  _ Conspired _ behind your back,” he chuckled. Harry and Viktor exchanged a smirk, and Draco felt like he’d been dropped into an alternate universe. 

“What?” he asked, stupidly.

“He sent me a letter,” Viktor explained. “Asked me to come over. So here I am.”

“You did?” Draco asked, staring at Harry. 

Harry shrugged, suddenly seeming embarrassed. “I thought you’d appreciate seeing him,” was all he offered as an explanation. “You always got along so well.”

It went unsaid that the last time Draco had spent time with Viktor, Harry had thrown an epic fit of jealousy. And now he was inviting him into their house as if none of that had ever happened? Had Draco missed something?

The rational part of his brain quickly caught up with what was happening, though. Things had changed drastically since last summer, after all. Draco had been diagnosed with depression, and today, the father he refused to associate with was on trial for his crimes against humanity. Harry had probably wanted to do something nice for Draco, offer him some sort of distraction while Harry was out testifying at his father’s trial. So he had bitten the bullet and contacted Viktor.

Draco cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a bit choked in the face of the gesture. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

Harry just smiled at him. “You two have a great day catching up,” he said, clasping Viktor’s shoulder in a determinedly cheerful manner. “I’ll be off to the Ministry. Let’s have dinner together tonight?”

“That vould be great,” Viktor smiled at him.

Harry nodded. With a last smile at Draco, he stepped out of the doorway. Draco heard the sound of his disapparition a moment later.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Draco shook his head, putting his book onto his desk and getting to his feet. “I’m sorry I haven’t been writing much. I -”

“Don’t vorry,” Viktor shook his head. “Harry told me you haven’t been feeling well?”

Draco sighed, shrugging. “It was hard to explain in a letter,” he muttered.

“I’m here now,” Viktor chuckled. “I will listen if you vant to talk. And if you don’t, I can talk.”

Draco smiled at that. He crossed the distance between them to pull him into a tight, heartfelt hug. When he let go, he suggested: “Want to sit outside? The weather is nice today and Harry and I put up sunscreen charms so I don’t burn to coal from each ray of sun.”

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Viktor laughed. “I spent my year in Northern Canada, you remember? I need to watch out.”

Draco laughed and they moved outside - with a short stop in the kitchen to get them some cold juice. When they were reclining in the lounge chairs Harry and Draco had chosen for the terrace, they started chatting amiably; Viktor told him about his team and about Canada, about home and about Stoyan and Andrey. When he felt comfortable enough, Draco started talking to - about what had happened throughout the last year: the way they’d been in hiding for most of the time, and how there had been more than one close call. He told him about the run-in with his father and his aunt. He told him about the final battle and about Harry walking into his death, stumbling over that part. He told him how he had been feeling detached ever since the war had ended and how Healer Jones had diagnosed him. All the while, Viktor listened, not interrupting, not asking disruptive questions. Draco was grateful for that. When he had run out of words, Viktor let out a long, heavy breath. 

“I get vy your letters vere so short now,” he muttered. “You can’t put this into vriting.”

“Maybe you can,” Draco allowed, “I just wasn’t there yet.”

“I understand,” Viktor nodded. He glanced at him. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this, Draco. I can’t imagine vat it vas like. All I know is that you are really, really strong. To survive all of this and keep fighting even now? You have my respect.”

“I don’t feel strong,” Draco frowned.

“You are,” Viktor shook his head. “You just don’t see it.” Draco didn’t answer, and Viktor sighed. He took a sip of his drink, then he said: “There vas almost no information on vat vas happening in Britain throughout the var. Papers in Canada or Bulgaria wouldn’t print anything. I mean, I knew vat vas happening - after all, I had fled from Fleur’s wedding myself, I heard that the Ministry had fallen - but the press didn’t print it. I had no vay of knowing vat vas happening, or if you vere alive. I couldn’t contact you, either. I tried vriting to Fleur once, a couple of months in, but she said she didn’t know anything about you, and asked me not to vrite anymore because it vas dangerous.” He took a deep breath. “Then, the papers in Canada reported on the battle of Hogwarts, and information finally leaked out of the country. They only mentioned Harry, though. So I sent Vukan to you, hoping that he vouldn’t return with the letter unopened or with a note from your relatives or Harry, telling me that you died at some point, months ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco sighed. “I wished I could have kept you updated, but -”

“I know,” Viktor shook his head. “You didn’t want to put me in danger. It just - it sucked, is all.”

Draco nodded. Then he sent a soft smile at him. “Your English had become amazing, by the way,” he commented.

“You mean, apart from my pronunciation,” Viktor rolled his eyes. “I’m vorking on it. Canada is doing me good, though.”

“Glad to hear that,” Draco smiled. Then, after a moment of silence, he asked: “How did you get out of the country after the wedding?”

Viktor sighed. “It vas a mess,” he admitted. “Still had to take the international portkey. And the Ministry knew I was friends vith you, so they stalled and asked me questions.”

“No,” Draco muttered, eyes widening.

“Your Kingsley got wind of it, though,” Viktor shot him a wry smile. “Contacted my coach via international floo call, vho contacted the Canadian department for international sports. They got into contact with your Ministry, demanding I get sent back immediately. Your Ministry gave in. I think they vanted to avoid an international incident. But they made it very clear that I should - um -  _ refrain  _ from travel into the UK if it’s not for vork.”

“Merlin,” Draco breathed, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Could have been vorse,” Viktor shrugged. “Being famous helped.”

“No kidding,” Draco nodded, sending him a weak smile. After a moment, he added: “I’m even more sorry for leaving you without news for so long now.”

“Don’t vorry,” Viktor shook his head. “I knew you had no choice.”

“You know what we’re going to do?” Draco decided. “We’re going to charm ourselves some parchments. I have some with Hermione and Harry. They are erasable and we can use them for quick communication. Much easier than letters. I know it can’t make up for the lack of news throughout the war, but -”

“That sounds great,” Viktor smiled. “I’d like to have more regular contact vith you.”

Draco smiled at him, trying to remember which spell Hermione’d used. Maybe he’d better quickly check with her via their parchments, lest he messed it up. 

Viktor spent the rest of the afternoon out in the sun and then went back inside when they became hungry. Draco was fixing them a Tempura-don - Yurika’s moving-in gift had been a Japanese recipe book, which she’d chosen after she’d heard from Harry that Draco was actually quite adept at cooking. She’d also been their dealer for ingredients, and so Draco had been making his way through the dishes, trying his luck. Harry and Draco had both really taken to the fried vegetables and seafood on rice, though, so he’d decided to indoctrinate Viktor, who’d claimed to be game. 

When Harry returned from the Ministry, he took an exaggerated whiff of air and broke out into a grin. Draco rolled his eyes. “Yurika will be so smug that you’re so hooked on Japanese food,” he commented.

“Maybe I’m just hooked on your cooking,” Harry said innocently. “We need to get you more recipes. Italian. Chinese. Spanish. Indian. French -”

“I already know some French dishes, thank you very much,” he injected.

“I can get you Bulgarian and Canadian recipes,” Viktor grinned. “And Russian, I’m sure.”

“Oh, please,” Harry nodded, eyes sparkling.

“I’m not your house-elf!” Draco called, but he was smiling. Then, his smile fell and his shoulders tensed. “So,” he said, clearing his throat. “What’s the verdict?”

Harry sighed, green eyes serious as they met his. “Three years in Azkaban,” he said. “Though I think his sentence might be reduced to two on grounds of good conduct if he keeps his head down and continues to cooperate.”

Draco’s lips twisted. He dropped another bunch of mushrooms into the oil. It splashed and Viktor took a careful stepped back. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked carefully. 

“Three or two years?” Draco muttered. “Isn’t that a little - I dunno,  _ weak _ , in the face of all that he’s done? He was the Dark Lord’s right hand for a long time. He joined up with him for a second time. He knew exactly what he was up for. And still, they’re so lenient?”

“He cooperated,” Harry shrugged. “He helped the Ministry in hunting down a lot of Death Eaters that were still on the run. He agreed to the Manor being searched and stripped of all dark artefacts. He offered up a good amount of money for war reparations.”

“So he paid his way out, as he always does,” Draco rolled his eyes.

“I think the most decisive factor was that he didn’t give me away, though,” Harry shrugged. “That’s probably what swayed the Wizengamot in his favour.”

Draco sighed. “Whatever,” he murmured. He lifted the mushrooms out with his wand, satisfied to see that they were golden brown. “How did Mother take it? I assume she’s going to sit around and wait for him like the good pureblood wife she is?”

“How would I know, Draco?” he sighed. “I didn’t speak to her after the trial. I stayed only long enough to hear the verdict, then I took off to avoid the press.”

“Fair enough,” Draco nodded. 

“I don’t quite understand her, either,” Harry sighed. “I mean, I try to. I guess she must have had her reasons for marrying him, once upon a time, and those reasons are probably what’s keeping her from divorcing him. I guess it comes down to what you can forgive in the name of love.” Those words hit Draco in a tender place. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Harry continued. “I mean, if I imagine it being you… I like to think I could forgive you a lot, but where is the line? Can you forgive your husband for crimes like that? For endangering your son? I’m not sure I could. I mean, it’s a moot point because you’d never…”

At that moment, oil splashed over and hit Draco right across the palm. He flinched and Harry’s eyes widened. 

“Careful!” he called, and he cast a shield charm over the oil before walking over the Draco, examining the wound. “I think Hermione left some Bubotuber solution,” he muttered, summoning it with a flick of his wand. “There we go. Hold still.” He gently applied the liquid and Draco tried hard to not pull his hand away. He felt twitchy. He could feel Viktor’s eyes on him, but the other boy stayed silent. 

“Okay,” Harry declared. “All done. Why don’t you sit with Viktor? I’ll fry the remaining vegetables. It’s only a couple more.”

“Thanks,” Draco nodded. He walked over to the dining table, Viktor on his heels. When they sat, Viktor muttered: “You okay?”

“Of course,” Draco lied. 

“Ven did he ask you?” Viktor asked Draco later that evening, after they had eaten. Harry had taken over the dishes and told Draco and Viktor to go back out to the terrace and sit outside. Draco had poured them a glass of elf wine and they’d settled back into the lounge chairs, watching the sunset at the horizon.

Draco looked at Viktor in confusion and Viktor pointed at Draco’s hand. Draco glanced down at the ring. 

“The first time during the war, a couple of days before the final battle,” Draco said. “Then again on my birthday, with the ring. That’s the day he asked me to move in together, too.”

“I see,” Viktor smiled. “I’m glad. Though I always knew you’d end up together.”

“I think you were the first to believe it,” Draco smiled. 

“It vas obvious,” Viktor shrugged. Draco just hummed. “Do you have a date yet?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “We want to wait until things are better, with our PTSD and my depression.” This had been Harry’s decision more than Draco’s, but Draco was grateful that he had set his foot down. Apparently, Molly Weasley had started planning their wedding as soon as she’d heard of their engagement, and Draco really didn’t feel like going through a big ceremony right now.  _ ‘We should wait until we both feel like going there,’  _ Harry had told him.  _ ‘Right now, things are a bit hard for both of us and I don’t think we’d have the headspace for it. I know things like PTSD and depression might never go away completely, but there will be better times, and we are in no rush. We can start planning when we both feel better.’  _ And he was right, of course. Draco couldn’t imagine going through wedding planning right now. 

“Makes sense,” Viktor said, nodding his head in the chair next to him. “Focus on your health, for now. A vedding is stressful. One of my teammates got married last year and he vas a mess, I tell you. You don’t need that kind of pressure until you feel stable.”

Draco nodded and they fell into a comfortable silence. Finally, Viktor asked, a bit hesitant: “You are happy vith Harry, right?”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, turning to him.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Just… Maybe I vas imagining it, or it’s your depression. But there’s some vibe I got from you that vorried me.”

Draco gulped, looking out over the pink sky. “I love him,” Draco assured him. “I’m just dealing with some things right now. It’s a bit hard to explain. But I love him.”

“He loves you, too,” Viktor told him. “A blind man can see that. He worries about you.”

“I know he does,” Draco nodded. 

Viktor sighed. “Vell, vatever issues you have, I hope you can vork it out,” Viktor said. “You are good together. And if you ever need to talk, I am villing to listen.”

“Thanks,” Draco smiled. Then, he added: “I still need to charm you that parchment.”

“Tomorrow,” Viktor waved him off. “I’m not leaving until after lunch. We have time.”

Draco nodded and settled back into his chair, watching the sun disappear from sight.

“You mentioned before that you felt that Harry wasn’t being honest when he says that he loves you,” Healer Jones told him, her pen tapping absentmindedly against her clipboard. “I’d like you to tell me why you feel that way.”

Draco gulped. His fingers clenched into a fist as his heartbeat sped up. He was silent for a long moment.

“I know this isn’t an easy thing to answer,” Healer Jones allowed. “So take your time, and if you feel overwhelmed, we can break this off.”

Draco nodded. He made a conscious effort to unclench his fingers and take a deep breath. 

“I’ve always felt… a bit on the outside, in our circle of friends,” Draco admitted. “They were all in Gryffindor and I was in Slytherin. Harry spent more time with them and when it came down to it, they seemed to listen more to each other than to me. I often felt… replaceable.”

“What gave you that feeling?” she asked.

“My opinion was often disregarded,” Draco said. “They made decisions in my absence. And -” his voice caught, but he pushed on, “- in our fourth year, Harry was one of the Champions in the Triwizard Tournament. The second task took place in the lake in front of the school. The person he cared about most was taken from him and held hostage by the merpeople. And that person… wasn’t me.”

“That must have hurt,” she said softly. 

“Like hell,” he nodded, his voice rough. “Weasley… he’d abandoned Harry earlier that year because he believed that Harry’d been cheating to become Champion. And still, he chose him over me. Or so it felt.”

“How did you react?”

“I didn’t talk to him for weeks.”

“How did you make up?”

“People kept telling me that it wasn’t really about me,” Draco whispered. “That Harry’s priorities were the foster family Weasley’s family represented, and that’s why he was so irreplaceable. I think what really put things into perspective, though, was the third task approaching. I couldn’t stay mad when he was in danger.”

“I see,” she nodded. She was silent for a long moment, then she said: “You are a very rational person, Draco, and that’s admirable. You are incredibly intelligent, probably one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. I think one of the mistakes you often make, though, is trying to rationalise your own feelings into submission. You told me once before that what you were feeling wasn’t rational - even if you can’t understand it, Draco, it doesn’t change the fact that you feel it. You shouldn’t feel guilty for emotions that you don’t perceive as ‘rational’. You have to learn to accept your emotions. You did the same thing when you forgave Mr Potter back then. You did what made sense to you and suppressed the hurt and anger you felt, and now it’s all coming to the surface again because the wound never really healed.”

“So what you’re saying is it was a mistake forgiving him?” Draco asked, frowning.

“No,” Healer Jones shook her head. “Not at all. You did what you thought was right back then. But it might have been at the expense of your own healing process, to some extent, I think.”

Draco frowned, taking that in. Healer Jones watched him, then she asked: “Do you think you might have done the same thing on other occasions? Pushed your own emotions down to keep the peace between you and Mr Potter?”

“Constantly,” Draco said, without thinking. “Throughout the year we were in hiding or -” he gulped before adding, “ - after he walked into the Forest.”

“That’s another thing you haven’t forgiven him for,” she observed. 

“It’s not that I’m angry,” Draco shook his head.

“Aren’t you?” Healer Jones raised her eyebrows. “Because it would be understandable if you were. Don’t suppress your emotions, Mr Malfoy.”

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Fine, maybe I’m a little angry,” he admitted. “But mostly, I’m disappointed. And hurt.”

“Because he left you behind?” 

“Yes.”

“It comes back again to you not believing in his love, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly.”

Draco felt his eyes sting. He kept them pressed firmly shut, biting his lip. 

“It’s okay to cry, Mr Malfoy,” Healer Jones said softly. “This is something that hurts you. Crying helps.”

Draco didn’t want to cry, though, so he breathed through it, and the urge passed. He opened his eyes, blinking and focusing his gaze on Healer Jones again.

“Have you ever tried voicing your emotions in front of Mr Potter?” she asked eventually. 

“Sometimes,” Draco shrugged. “I don’t think he gets it, though.”

“What about your other friends?” she asked. “You mentioned that you felt excluded by that whole group. Have you ever told them?”

“I told Weasley,” Draco snorted. “That was easy, though. We never got along.”

“How did he react to that?”

“He basically said I was seeing things. He thought Harry and Hermione were both obsessed with me.”

“That might indicate, though, that it’s just a matter of perception,” she noted. “Have you considered trying to talk to your other friend? Hermione?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “And I don’t want to.”

“Why?” she asked, surprised. “She might be able to assuage your fears a little.”

“She might also confirm them,” Draco pointed out. “I’m not going to poke a sleeping dragon.”

She regarded him curiously. “You seem to be really scared of losing your position in this group,” she pointed out. “Why is that, do you think?”

Draco shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he said. His heart was pounding.

She waited, but when no further answer was forthcoming, she continued: “You have known these people for seven years. You’ve gone through hell with them. You are engaged to one of them, and from what I have heard and can divulge, Mr Potter seems to truly care about you, at least from where I am standing. And yet, you seem terrified that with one wrong word, they’re going to decide they’ve had enough of you. But in my experience, this is not how relationships like these work. So it does make me wonder how you have developed this fear.”

Draco shrugged again. His heart was still pounding. “I told you,” he said, his voice small. “I always felt like an outsider.”

“Did you also feel insufficient, in some way?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “Obviously. My father was a Death Eater.”

“That doesn’t reflect on you.”

“Please go back in time and tell eleven-year-old Ron Weasley that.”

“So he gave you grief about it?”

“Only constantly.”

“So you felt that because your father was perceived as a bad person, you had to be one, too?”

“It’s what people thought of me.”

“A self-fulfilling prophecy, so to speak.”

“Maybe.”

“But you didn’t turn out like your father. You are the opposite of him, if I might say so,” she pointed out. “Why do you still feel insufficient?”

Draco had no answer to that, so he shrugged again. The silence stretched on between them. 

“Here’s what I want you to do until next week, Draco,” she said. “I’d like you to make a list of all the things you like about yourself. Ten things or more, if you can. Please don’t view this as an exercise of narcissism - you have real issues of self-worth and self-confidence, and I'd like to work on those. Maybe, if you learn to see the good in yourself, it will be easier for you to believe that Mr Potter does love you, even if he did make some mistakes along the way.” 

“Okay,” Draco frowned. “What if I don’t find ten?”

“Then come back with what you have and we’ll think of some more together,” she said. “Don’t ask anyone for help, though. This is for you. I don’t need to hear what Mr Potter loves about you, as much as I enjoy a good romance.”

“Okay,” he nodded, smiling a little.

“I’ll see you next week, Mr Malfoy,” she nodded. “Good job today.”

He didn’t feel like he’d done a good job. He’d just dug up so many things he’d buried deep inside and now he felt wrung out and confused.

But maybe, he reflected, that was the point of this.  _ ‘You have to learn to accept your emotions,’ _ Healer Jones had said. 

What if you didn’t like your emotions, though? What if they didn’t add up to the person you wanted or needed to be? 

“We’ve got letters from Hogwarts,” Harry told him when Draco came down the stairs in the morning. He had almost finished setting the table and Draco halted in his steps, staring at the two letters that were ominously sitting next to the pot of tea.

“Hogwarts?” Draco repeated.

“It’s probably McGonagall asking whether we want to come back to complete our NEWT-year,” Harry shrugged. “I met her at the Ministry a couple of times. She told me to expect mail.”

“Oh,” Draco nodded. 

Harry put down the toast on the table and sat, and Draco took his own seat, staring at the letters as if they would burst into flames.

“Do you want to go?” Draco asked.

Harry bit his lip and caught his eyes. “Not really,” he admitted. “Kingsley offered me a position in the Auror trainee programme coming August. Both me and Ron, that is.”

“Oh,” Draco nodded. He’d expected as much, but it still felt weird hearing it.

“I said I would speak to you first, though,” Harry continued. “The place will still be there if I go to Hogwarts with you. So if you want to go, and want me to come with you, I will, Draco. Or if you don’t, the Ministry will be happy to make an exception for you, too. I’m sure they can fix you up with a position in the Unspeakables trainee programme.”

Draco considered it, then shook his head. “I think I want my NEWTs,” he sighed. “I enjoy studying. And I can’t imagine going to work in only a couple of months.”

“You could also take a break,” Harry offered. “We don’t need the money. Everyone would understand -”

“I think Hogwarts is a good idea for me,” he interrupted him. “I’ll ask Hermione what she plans to do, but even if she’s not going, Ginny, Ryan, Yurika and Luna will be there. I’ll be fine.”

Harry stared at his plate. Then, he shook his head. “I’ll tell Kingsley to wait for a year,” he said. “Then we can -”

“Harry,” Draco sighed. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” Harry frowned.

“Do you really want to go back?” Draco asked. “Like, really?”

Harry hesitated. “I mean, if you weren’t going, I wouldn’t consider it,” Harry admitted. “But I don’t want to be apart from you for a whole year!”

“It won’t be a whole year,” Draco said. “It’s from September to June, with two holidays. And there’s always Hogsmeade weekends.”

“It’s still too long,” Harry shook his head. “We’ve never been apart for that long!”

“Yeah, well, we’ve been living in each other’s pocket for the past year, let’s be honest,” Draco sighed. “If you look up the word ‘co-dependency’ in a dictionary, you might find us as an example. So maybe, this isn’t the worst thing that could happen to us.”

Harry looked hurt at that. He was staring at Draco. “Do you want to get away from me?” he asked sharply.

“No,” Draco sighed. “I just - we’re supposed to be stronger than this. You want one thing, I want another thing. Even if we end up living apart for a couple of months because of that, we should come out of it alright if we want to make this work; want to get married and want to make it last. We can’t just hold back all the time and follow the other around. It’s unhealthy.”

There. Feel your emotions, don’t hold back to accommodate Harry. Healer Jones would be proud.

Harry, though, looked upset. What he said, though, was: “I guess that makes sense.” His voice was small. 

They ate the rest of their meal in relative silence. Draco took up the dishes after and Harry disappeared upstairs for a while. When he came back down, he slipped into his shoes and robes.

“I’m going out for a while,” he said, not looking at Draco.

“Ministry?” he asked.

“No,” Harry asked, hesitating. Then, he said: “Healer Jones.”

“But our next meeting is Friday,” Draco blinked.

“I know,” Harry said, meeting his eyes. Draco’s heart dropped when he saw Harry’s eyes were red. “I asked for a last-minute meeting.”

“Oh,” Draco muttered.

“I’ll see you later,” Harry breathed, and then he was out of the door.

Draco stared at the spot he’d disappeared from. He knew Healer Jones offered emergency sessions, but neither of them had ever had to take her up on the offer.

Draco stayed in the kitchen for a long time, feeling rooted to the spot and horribly, horribly guilty. 


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five: Bitter Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the new chapter, and I hope you'll enjoy it! It's intense, though. I hope you have tissues nearby.
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains a therapy session with references to fear of loss, self-worth issues and past abuse and the effects of such. I tried my best to handle these subjects delicately, but please remember that I'm no therapist myself. 
> 
> Many thanks to LunartheDragon, who helped look over the chapter and helped me feel more confident about the tricky sections. In general, she's been a treasure, helping me out and looking over scenes whenever I felt insecure whether the wording was appropriate. Thank you so much, dear! Your help was invaluable!

“I’m sorry, Mr Malfoy,” Healer Jones sighed, “but I can’t discuss what your fiancé wanted to see me about when he called me up for an emergency session. I am bound by patient-healer confidentiality. I won’t discuss anything you tell me with him, and the other way around, unless the two of you specifically allow me to do so.”

“I know what he came to see you about,” Draco muttered. “I just - I feel horrible about it.”

“And why is that?”

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Draco whispered. “I didn’t expect anything I said to have that effect.”

“You’re not the only one who worries about your relationship, Mr Malfoy,” she told him with a sad smile. “In fact, Mr Potter keeps pushing me for a joint session with you. He is desperate to know what’s really on your mind. I keep telling him the two of you are not ready,” she sighed. “But on the other hand, I fear that if we don’t do it soon, the danger of you starting a conversation without me in the room might be a more serious worry to factor in…” she sighed again, meeting his eyes. “I want to hear your opinion, Mr Malfoy. Do you think you could answer some of Mr Potter’s questions about both your condition and your relationship with me in the room to help reign in his anxieties?”

Draco frowned. “What kind of questions?” he asked.

“I’m not going to lie,” she sighed. “He will want to know how you feel about him, most likely.”

“That’s going to be problematic, isn’t it?” Draco winced. “He won’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“No, he won’t like your answer,” Healer Jones agreed. “But he really wants to hear it, because he has suspicions of his own, and let me to you, what’s going on in his mind is hurting him more than anything you can say ever will. Yes, it will hurt him, no doubt. It will be incredibly hard to hear. But he wants to understand, and maybe you should give him the chance to do it.”

“Are you sure?” Draco asked, feeling sick to the stomach at the prospect of discussing the sinkhole that are his emotions with Harry. 

“Fear can be a beast, Mr Malfoy,” she said. “It can grow and grow and tear you apart from the inside. I think you, too, are well-acquainted with it. That’s what’s happening to your fiancé right now. The best thing you can do for him is to be as honest as you can.”

Draco nodded hesitantly. He still felt horrified at the imagination of revealing to Harry what he’d been discussing with Healer Jones but, if that’s what Harry needed, maybe he could try to give him a little insight. No one had said this therapy thing was going to be easy, after all. 

“Remember, you decide what’s too much,” she reminded him. “If you don’t want to discuss something or you want to break the joint session off, you can say so any time. But I think it would be good for Mr Potter to show some goodwill and give it a try.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded.

“Good,” Healer Jones said. “I’ll tell him. And don’t worry, I’ll be there every step along the way, and I’ll cut in when I think it’s going to escalate.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Not for that,” she smiled. “So, let’s go back to your assignment, Mr Malfoy. How many things did you put on your list?”

Draco sighed, drawing out a parchment from his pocket.

“I had… real trouble thinking of anything, to be honest,” Draco admitted.

“Okay,” Healer Jones nodded. She did not seem surprised. “Please tell me what you got.”

Draco bit his lip. He felt strangely squirmish, and his heart was pounding in his ears.

“Ten things you like about yourself, Mr Malfoy,” Healer Jones said, in a playful voice that resembled that of a Quidditch commentator. It broke the tension a bit. “Go!”

“Well,” Draco sighed. “I think I’m intelligent.”

“More than intelligent, from what I hear,” she agreed. “That’s something you are allowed to be proud of.”

“It doesn’t always do me much good, though,” he muttered, frowning. 

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

“There are so many situations when my emotions seem to… eclipse my brain,” he shrugged. “I try to act rationally, and then I don’t. What good does it do to be intelligent if you don’t act on it?”

“You’re human, Mr Malfoy,” she smiled. “This happens to all of us. We make mistakes, even if we should know better, and then we learn from them. It’s how we mature. This is nothing you should feel ashamed of, though. There are older and wiser wizards who make mistakes on a daily basis. Look at your parents or other adult role models in your life. Are any of them infallible?”

“No,” Draco admitted. 

“What about people in your life that you consider ‘intelligent’? Are they acting completely rational twenty-four-seven?”

“No,” Draco repeated. 

“Then why do you hold such expectations upon yourself?” she asked. 

Draco didn’t answer. After a moment, he murmured: “That was my role, though, in our group. If I wanted to get my Gryffindor friends to listen to me, my logic needed to be perfect.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “So that’s where this is coming from. You’ve mentioned before that you’ve been feeling like an outsider among them. Have there been a lot of situations when you felt unheard?”

“Yes,” Draco admitted. 

“Have you ever told them?”

“Yes.”

“What did they say?”

“They made excuses. Said that of course, they cared about my opinion, but  _ in this situation _ , it just didn’t make sense to do things my way. But that’s how it always went, and in the end, I was always  _ right _ .”

“That must have been very frustrating for you,” she observed. Draco just nodded. “The fact that you turned out to be correct, though, should give you confidence, Mr Malfoy. You are intelligent, and you are good at solving problems, even if your friends don’t always appreciate it.”

“It’s… a bit hard for me to take pride in anything, at the moment,” he admitted.

“I can see that,” she nodded. There was a moment of silence between them before she asked: “What is next on your list, Mr Malfoy?”

“I… had real trouble finding more,” Draco muttered, not looking at her.

“Other things must have occurred to you,” she frowned. 

“Well,” he shrugged. “People say I’m loyal.”

“Do you agree with that assessment?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “I think I’m selfish.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because all my loyal actions are motivated by selfish reasons. I want to keep the people I love around. I want them to love me. I want them to see me as a good person. That’s not real loyalty. It’s self-serving.”

Healer Jones hummed, her brow furrowed. Then, she said: “From what you’re saying, it rather sounds like you’re battling with a fear of loss. Which makes sense, since you seem to have such a low opinion of yourself. But treasuring the people you love and working on your relationship with them - yes, in a way that will always be self-serving, Mr Malfoy. Taking care of ourselves means taking care of our relationships and interacting with people we love. But it’s not self-serving in a way that makes you a bad person. And I think your loyalty probably goes way beyond this level. You are a loving and caring friend, partner and family member. That isn’t self-serving in any way. You are just perceiving it that way.”

“So what you’re saying is my self-perception is screwed up?” he frowned, highly sceptical.

“Of course it is, Mr Malfoy,” she smiled. “You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. Your self-esteem is dangerously low. That’s why we’re doing this exercise.”

“Well, obviously, I can’t even do that,” Draco muttered, frustrated. “You told me to find ten things, and I barely got three, and I don’t believe in any of them!”

“That’s what we’re here for,” she told him, her voice gentle now. “To help you along, and to work through this.” After Draco had taken a couple of deep breaths, she asked: “What is your last point on the list?” 

“The fact that Harry loves me,” he whispered. “Though half the time, I’m not sure I believe that.”

“But you want to believe in it,” she smiled. “Because if Mr Potter loves you, it proves you’re worth being loved. Am I correct?”

Draco didn’t answer, but his eyes stung, proving her correct. 

“Mr Malfoy, I’m sure we can find other things that have nothing to do with Mr Potter,” she continued. “Tell me about Quidditch. From what I hear, you are a talented flyer and a great Seeker.”

Draco blinked, taken off guard. “Oh,” he muttered. “Yes,” he nodded. “I guess.”

“You are incredibly well-versed in the field of Alchemy, even though you never took a class in the subject,” she continued.

“How do you know that?” Draco asked, taken off-guard.

“I asked Mr Potter the same question I asked you,” she smiled. “He came up with quite a few more points, on the spot.”

Draco stared at her. His heart was drumming loudly in his ears.

“You also have a cutting wit, it appears,” she smiled. “And are a top student. You are a good dueller and fighter.”

“I’m passable,” Draco muttered. “Nothing compared to Harry.”

“You survived the war, Mr Malfoy,” she reminded him. “You made it through the final battle unscathed, and you seem to have saved various people along the way. You are skilled.” Draco gulped but didn’t answer. “And, last but not least,” she added, “you seem to have become some sort of role model for your housemates at Hogwarts throughout the war.”

“I never intended that,” Draco pointed out. “I never did anything special.”

“Of course, you didn’t intend it,” she agreed. “But you did something very special, or it wouldn’t have happened.”

Draco looked away. Something heavy was pressing onto his chest. All these words felt so wrong for him, like robes that didn’t fit and were forced onto him.

“And that makes ten,” she concluded. “So, looking at it, you are a remarkable young man, Mr Malfoy. You just can’t take pride in who you are and what you’ve done.”

“I’m not that great,” Draco shook his head, his throat tight. 

“I disagree,” she breathed. “Mr Potter disagrees.”

“Maybe it’s your perception of me that’s wrong,” Draco countered.

“So everyone is wrong but you?” she smiled. “Does that sound likely, Mr Malfoy?”

“It does to me,” Draco whispered. 

"Maybe you should consider that other people have a different perspective of you," Healer Jones suggested. "They can see you in a way that you aren't able to, at the moment. That doesn't make them wrong, though. Maybe they just have a better view because they're looking from a different angle. Give their opinions a chance."

"But shouldn't I know myself best?" Draco argued. "None of them know all of my darkest thoughts and secrets. They can't know how messed up I really am."

"Your mind, though, can't always be trusted, Mr Malfoy," she reminded him. "It's a trickster. And a depressed mind is even more vicious in its deception."

Draco didn't answer, trying to process her words. Healer Jones noted something onto her board. “I think this is enough for today,” she said. “Mr Malfoy, is Mr Potter going to be at home when you get there now?”

“I think so,” Draco frowned. 

“Good,” she smiled. “I feel better knowing you aren’t alone in the house this afternoon. I know this was upsetting to you.”

“Why are we doing it, then?” Draco couldn’t help but ask. “Isn’t this supposed to help me?”

“The mind doesn’t heal easily, Mr Malfoy,” she looked at him sadly. “Sometimes, we have to speak about things that upset you or make you sad before you can move past them. Letting them rest and suppressing them is what’s causing your depression. Talking about them allows you to heal, even if it’s hard.”

Draco sighed and nodded. “So that’s why we’re doing this thing with Harry next week, too?” he checked.

“Exactly,” she nodded. “For him, some things need to be clarified before he can work through them. Maybe you can use this week to think about what you would like to share with him?”

“Okay,” Draco nodded.

“Thank you for today,” she smiled, getting up to shake Draco’s hand. “I’ll see both of you next week, then.”

Throughout the week, Harry and Draco didn’t talk about the shared therapy session they had ahead of them. The Erumpent in the room was politely ignored, but when they went to bed at night, Harry would initiate passionate sex that got a tad more intense, if not desperate, each time. Harry would hold Draco just that bit tighter, kiss him just that bit harder, and Draco knew it meant that he was nervous, but he couldn’t find words to reassure him. He still couldn’t picture anything he could say in this session that wouldn’t hurt Harry. So he just kissed him back and clung to him as Harry thrust into him, communicating without words, hoping it was enough. 

When the time for their session with Healer Jones came, Harry had become a fidgety mess, while Draco felt strangely detached. The calm before the storm, maybe?

“Thank you both for being here today,” Healer Jones smiled at them as they sat in her office - Draco on his usual armchair and Harry on the loveseat. Draco could feel Harry glancing at him. He wondered if he should have sat with Harry, but he felt like this much proximity would have overwhelmed him in this setting. “And thank you, Mr Malfoy, for agreeing to this session in the first place. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

Draco nodded in acknowledgement. Harry’s eyes were burning holes into the side of his face. 

“Mr Potter, maybe you could start by telling us why you wanted this shared session with your fiancé, to begin with. I gave him a bit of a heads up, but I think it would be good for him to hear it from your lips.”

Draco finally forced himself to look over at Harry. Harry’s gaze had switched to his hands. His fingers were intertwined in his lap, probably to keep them still. Draco realised how small and insecure he looked. Vulnerable, even. It was a strange look on Harry. 

“Healer Jones and I… we’ve been talking a lot about my fear of loss,” Harry breathed out, at last. “You already know some of it. You experienced it through the war. I kept trying to push you away because I was afraid I’d lose you. I stopped doing that because I realised that it was counterproductive, but… the fear never really stopped, Draco, and with everything that’s going on at the moment, I am terrified that you’re going to leave me.”

“Why would I leave you?” Draco asked, blinking in surprise.

“I know things have been difficult with us,” Harry muttered, glancing up at him. “Since the final battle… things haven’t been the same. And I know part of it is due to your condition, but I can’t help but think that maybe, it’s because of me. That you stopped loving me. That when I walked into that Forest that night… I lost you.” His voice cracked, but he pushed on. “And another part of me is terrified that you’re going to get worse and you’ll end up hurting yourself, like you did when you were under the influence of the Horcrux, and I’ll lose you like that. And I just… It’s all driving me insane, Draco. I’m trying so hard to keep it together all the time, but when I think about losing you, I feel like I can’t breathe. I need you to talk to me. I can’t stand it anymore.”

Draco gulped, letting all of that sink in. He’d had no idea that Harry was struggling this much, if he was being quite honest. He’d known he’d been running his mind, but that he’d been hiding all this from Draco was a lot to swallow.

“Please say something,” Harry breathed. 

“I’m not going to leave you,” Draco shook his head. “And I’m not going to hurt myself. I know that thing with the Horcrux really scared you, but it was just the Horcrux. I won’t do it again.”

“Mr Malfoy,” Healer Jones said gently. “I think we all have to accept that the Horcrux drew out something inside of you that was already there. I believe you when you say that you don’t have any inclination to commit suicide at the moment. But I think you could be pushed to that edge, under the right - or wrong - circumstances. So Mr Potter’s fear might seem a bit far off to you right now, but it is justified, in my professional opinion.” Draco didn’t know how to answer. He just frowned at her. She was already turning towards Harry, though. “I think what we can take away at this point, though,” she smiled at Harry encouragingly, “is that your fiancé has no inclination of hurting himself, and if he keeps up treatment and if you keep the circumstances at home stable and supportive, there should be no reason for that to change.”

Harry blinked and nodded. He was taking deep breaths and gnawing on his lip. His knuckles were white, he was grasping his fingers so tightly.

“And I never stopped loving you,” Draco breathed, making Harry look up at him again. “I don’t think I’m capable of that.”

“Sometimes it feels like we’re broken,” Harry murmured, and his eyes were pleading with him now. “Some days, you won’t even look at me, and now, you want to go back to Hogwarts without me -” he gulped, and Draco could see the tears hanging on his eyelids, “you never wanted space from me before,” Harry breathed, “now it feels like you can’t get enough.”

Draco’s eyes caught onto a tiny thread sticking out of the carpet and stayed there. He only looked up when Healer Jones said his name. 

“Mr Malfoy,” she said, very gently. “I think Mr Potter needs to hear about what you’ve been telling me. The doubts you were having ever since the final battle.”

“No,” Draco shook his head, his jaw clenching.

“He wants to understand, Mr Malfoy,” she breathed. 

“It won’t make anything better,” Draco argued.

“Draco,” Harry pleaded, making Draco meet his eyes. “Please,” he breathed. “Talk to me. Whatever is going on, I need to know. We can work it out, okay? If I’m doing something wrong, I can be better. I want to be better. So please… let’s just figure this out.”

Draco shook his head. “This isn’t something you can fix, Harry,” Draco pointed out. 

“You won’t know until you let me try,” Harry argued, stubborn as ever. “Please, Draco. Trust me. I’ll never stop fighting for us.”

Something about Harry’s words hit Draco in a weak spot. He inhaled sharply, holding the air in for a long time before exhaling slowly. He caught Healer Jones’ eyes, who smiled encouragingly and nodded. Finally, he spoke.

“You asked if you lost me that night you walked into that Forest,” Draco asked, without looking at him. “And you didn’t, not in the way you think. I haven’t stopped loving you. But when you left me behind… I think something inside of _me_ broke, Harry.”

Draco glanced over at Harry. He’d raised one hand to his face, covering his mouth and hiding half of his face from Draco’s view. His eyes, though, were resigned and screaming in pain. As if Draco was giving him an answer he had known was coming. He nodded, signalling for Draco to continue.

“I know it’s not fair of me,” Draco amended. “Rationally, I know why you did it, but I can’t help but feel like… you chose the world over me? Does that make sense? And I can’t relate, because I know if it had been me, I’d always have chosen you. And maybe that makes me a bad person, but what it comes down to is that it made me feel like I love you more than you love me. Which, thinking back on our years together, isn’t exactly a revelation, but before the final battle, I had deluded myself that maybe, things had changed, but…” he shook his head, still not looking at Harry. “This probably doesn’t make any sense to you, but it felt like the culmination of a lot of things - fourth year, Cho Chang -”

There was a choked sound from Harry and finally, Draco looked over to his side, freezing at what he saw. Harry was openly crying. He was trembling violently and tears were streaming down his cheeks. When Draco’s eyes fell into him, he jumped to his feet, fleeing for the door, but Healer Jones stopped him by bolting the door with a spell. Instead, she opened a door in her back, gesturing for Harry to take this one rather than the one leading to the waiting area.

“Please, into my office, Mr Potter,” she said. “I’d rather you calmed down in private.”

Without a word, Harry fled the room, and Healer Jones glanced at Draco, who was still sitting in his armchair, completely stunned. 

“Please wait here for a moment,” she instructed. “I’ll be back.” 

Then, she followed Harry, closing the door behind herself.

In the long minutes that followed their absence, Draco repeated his words and Harry’s reaction over and over in his head. He’d expected Harry to argue with him, but he hadn’t expected  _ this _ . 

When the door finally opened again, Harry returned with Healer Jones, much to Draco’s relief. His eyes were red-rimmed and still swimming with tears, but he seemed a bit more collected.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked anxiously before he could stop himself.

Harry caught Draco’s eyes. “No,” he breathed out, shaking his head. He crossed the room towards Draco, much to his surprise, and kneeled in front of him, resting his hands on Draco’s knees. “I have something to say to you,” he said. “Can you let me speak, without interrupting?”

“Okay,” Draco nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Harry breathed, and he blinked hard against the tears. “I’m so sorry for making you feel that way. You’re so far off that you’re practically in another universe with your assumption, and I wished I could find a way to prove this to you. I know that it’s my fault. I wished I could go back in time and do things differently. I wished I had realised my feelings for you sooner. Then everything would have been different. If I had just -” 

“Mr Potter,” Healer Jones injected gently, “blaming yourself isn’t productive. Please remember that.”

Harry let out a sob and nodded. “Right,” he said, and more tears escaped his eyelids. “It’s just -” he blinked against the tears and looked up at Draco with a helpless, broken expression that struck Draco speechless. “I tried so hard to protect you, all these years, and it never occurred to me that I’d be the one hurting you the most. And now I don’t know what to do. I want to punch myself. I just - Draco - “

Harry pressed his face into Draco’s thighs and Draco stared as he cried into the fabric of his trousers, feeling helpless. He needed to say something. Comforting Harry was what he did. But what did you say when the love of your life was crying because he’d hurt you?

Before Draco could come to a decision, Harry straightened up again, taking deep breaths and meeting Draco’s eyes. He reached out for one of Draco’s hands and kissed it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I know I have somewhat of a tunnel vision. I am talking to Healer Jones about it, and she thinks it’s partly due to the way I grew up. The Dursleys… you know what they were like. And apparently, it’s not uncommon for teens and adults that have been abused as children to develop a… narrower field of vision, in a way, compared to others. I tend to hyperfocus on what’s directly in front of me and miss things that are happening on the side. I think you’ve become a victim of that more than once, and I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It didn’t mean that all those years ago, and it doesn’t mean that now. I’m just wired differently. Do you think you can understand that?”

Draco stared at him for a long moment, trying to process that. It felt like his brain was trying to put the puzzle pieces together, but he wasn’t quite there yet. 

“You mean the Dursley’s…” Draco whispered, “because they were… violent towards you?”

“Sometimes,” Harry nodded. 

“Experiences like these influence a person into adulthood, Mr Malfoy,” Healer Jones interjected. “And Mr Potter never had the chance to work through his past. Patterns that developed in his childhood stuck through later stages and never quite left him. He isn’t ‘oblivious’ or ‘blind’, as he used to describe it when we first started talking. He simply perceives the world differently, in a way that has been influenced by a childhood laced with violence, and, let’s be honest, a teenage life that continued to be dangerous in the least. Mr Potter will always have a sharp instinct for danger, for instance. Other instincts, especially on the interpersonal level, might be less developed, though, but we can work on that.”

“I never thought of that,” Draco admitted, guilt settling in his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Harry shook his head, squeezing his hand and kissing it again. “I didn’t know it was happening, either. I would have stopped it if I had. I never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t important to me.” He blinked, then he breathed: “Draco, that night… I know you might have found another solution. I know you might have reacted differently. But please believe me when I say my decision to go and face off against Voldemort alone doesn’t mean that I love you any less. I left you behind  _ because _ I love you, not the other way around.”

Draco looked at Harry, at the way tears still hung on his eyelids, cheeks wet, nose running - Draco had never seen him like that. Draco knew, logically, that all this pointed to him being sincere.

The ugly, self-loathing part in him, though, told him there was no way that Harry could love  _ him _ the way Draco loved Harry. 

“I want to believe you,” Draco breathed. “But I’m not sure I do.”

Fresh tears rolled from Harry’s eyes. It broke Draco’s heart how shattered he looked. He regretted the words immediately.

“You have to accept that, Mr Potter,” Healer Jones said softly. “Draco is struggling with extremely low self-esteem. You can’t force him to accept the fact that you love him. But that he wants to believe it is a good sign.”

“Is it my fault?” Harry asked brokenly. “That you don’t like yourself?”

“No, Mr Potter,” Healer Jones injected sternly. “What did we say about blaming ourselves for every wrong in the world? Draco’s issues are influenced by a lot of things. You might play into them in part, but you are never the solitary factor. Do you understand me?”

Harry blinked and nodded. “Yes,” he breathed. Then, he looked up at Draco again, whispering: “It kills me that you don’t seem to love yourself. I can’t understand why or how it happened, but please let me tell you that you, Draco Malfoy, are amazing, and worth loving. You are caring and kind and so much more that we’d need two more sessions until I was done telling you about them. I know you don’t believe me now, but I’ll stay by your side and I’ll love you and show you every day until you believe me. Is that okay?”

Draco blinked, his throat tightening. “Yes,” he whispered. “Of course.”

Harry brought his hand to his lips to kiss it again, lingering this time.

Finally, Healer Jones spoke. “I’d like to end this session for today,” she said. “This was exhausting for both of you, but I think you took away a lot. Mr Potter, I’d like to speak to you alone before you leave. Draco, is there anyone you could visit while I speak to your fiancé? Family members, close friends? I’d feel uncomfortable knowing you were home alone after such a session.”

“I could go visit Remus,” Draco nodded. “He should be at home with the baby.”

“Good,” she nodded. “Mr Potter, you can join him when we’re done.”

Harry nodded, getting to his feet and allowing Draco to stand, as well. He pulled Draco into a short embrace before he left. Harry was still trembling, Draco realised.

Remus was indeed home when Draco arrived. He smiled warmly at Draco as he walked in through their backyard, Teddy’s hair changing from blue to blond on his father’s arms at the sight of Draco. It made Draco smile. 

“Hello,” Remus smiled. “Aren’t you a nice surprise!”

“Sorry to burst in unannounced,” Draco said. “Harry and I had a session with the mind healer, and Harry is still there. The healer didn’t want me to go home alone because it was a bit… intense. Is it okay if I wait for him here?”

“Of course,” Remus nodded, his face sympathetic. “Sit. I’ll make you some cocoa.”

“It’s hot outside, Remus,” Draco rolled his eyes, but Remus didn’t let that deter him. He simply dropped Teddy into his arms and went to fetch the milk. 

“I didn’t say hot cocoa,” Remus chuckled. “Chocolate is good against bad thoughts. Didn’t you learn anything from my classes?”

“Right,” Draco chuckled, turning his face when Teddy squealed and giggled before planting his tiny fist right against the corner of his lips. “Ugh. Hi, Teddy. Missed you, too.”

“That boy adores you, you know,” Remus smiled fondly.

“He can probably smell weakness,” Draco snorted. “Since I have no idea what to do with him.”

“He does,” Remus allowed with a grin. “But that isn’t why he likes you.”

Draco was kept from answering when Teddy grabbed his hair and knotted his tiny fingers into it. 

Harry joined them around forty minutes later, entering the kitchen together with Dora, who came back from work. 

“Oh, look at you, Tedster,” Dora grinned. “Torturing your favourite uncle. Good boy.”

“Save me,” Draco pleaded, and his cousin cackled but lifted her son from his arms. Draco stood to splash his face with water, cleaning his godson’s spit from his skin. Then, he turned to Harry, who was watching him with a soft smile on his face. His eyes were still a bit red but else, he looked quite composed, if a bit tired. 

“Are you okay?” Draco asked him quietly. 

Harry nodded. He walked up to wrap his arms around him, resting his chin on Draco’s shoulder. Draco leaned his cheek against Harry’s temple.

“Are you two staying for dinner?” Dora asked.

Draco pulled away to look at Harry in askance.

“I think we’d better go,” Harry said, loud enough for them to hear. “I’d like some peace and quiet tonight.”

“Okay,” Remus smiled at them. “But come over whenever you want. We like having you around.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiled at them. 

They spent the night in quiet companionship, cooking and then eating curled up on the sofa, watching something on that horrible muggle box. When they went to bed that night, Harry held Draco tightly against him.

“I love you,” he whispered into the skin of his neck.

“I love you, too,” Draco whispered back. 

Harry buried his nose into Draco’s hair and inhaled deeply. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we only have one more actual chapter left after this! The one after will already be the Epilogue! Wow, I can't believe we're almost done with the main arc. It feels surreal.
> 
> And before you jump on me in the comments: Yes, the letter will be talked about. Be patient, young padawans.
> 
> Until then, please have a nice two weeks and stay safe!


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six: Catching Up To Past, Future And Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Here I am, with the last regular chapter of this story! My God, I can't believe we made it here. Amazing. I hope that you'll enjoy this chapter and that it wraps everything up to your satisfaction. It is definitely the conclusion that had me making a lot of plot-decisions throughout the story, and I hope it helps you understand why some things happened the way they happened. 
> 
> Warning: There is an explicit sex scene in this chapter. If you want to skip it, look out for the markings ***e*** at the beginning and ***/e/*** at the ending. A short info about the content you might have missed can be found in the End Notes.

Things between Harry and Draco settled a little after their joint session with Healer Jones. Maybe getting some answers from Draco really helped Harry deal with the situation better. Maybe it was the fact that Draco had a new appreciation for the fact that Harry was struggling, too. The fact was that their life together went a little more smoothly after, as if they were slowly perfecting a dance they had been practising for months.

That didn’t mean everything was well, though, and sometimes, Draco became terribly frustrated with his inability to just be okay. He still hated being around crowds. When they invited their friends over for Harry’s birthday, he became so overwhelmed that he periodically found excuses to leave the room. It made him angry; not at the others, but at himself. 

It was Ryan who came across him lingering on the terrace, catching some air. 

“Luna said to check you over for some sort of creature,” he smiled at Draco. “But I don’t think I’m qualified, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t.”

Draco snorted. Ryan shouldered him. “There,” he murmured. “That was almost a smile.”

Draco gulped, frowning. “I smile plenty,” he replied.

“Not recently,” he shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile since the war, mate.”

Draco realised that Ryan was right. He hadn’t done much smiling as of late. Was this another way how he was broken? 

_ “You’re not broken,”  _ Healer Jones’ voice sounded in his head, chastising him for the thought.  _ “You’re traumatised and depressed, Mr Malfoy, and that’s a perfectly reasonable thing to be, after everything you went through. But you can, and will, get better. You are in no way deficient.” _

“I’m a bit out of it,” Draco admitted to Ryan with a sigh. “I’m working on it, though. I’m seeing someone.”

“I know,” Ryan smiled. “Ginny told me. And I think that’s great. Asking for help isn’t easy, and I’m glad you’re doing it.” He hesitated for a moment, then he said: “I hope you know that, if you need help or if you simply want to hang out, I’m here. Ginny’s here. Yurika’s here, or Luna, or all of us, really. I know you don’t like to be in huge crowds at the moment, but just call up one of us, and we’re going to come over. I know I can be loud enough for three people, but I swear I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle at that, and Ryan’s shoulders relaxed at his response. 

“Now that’s much better,” he muttered. “I get that you need some time for yourself, but… please don’t lock yourself away completely? That can’t be healthy.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, meaning it. “You’re right. Let’s get together one of these days. Maybe not as a huge group, but… if I’m going to go back to Hogwarts, I’ll have to start somewhere, right?”

“Right,” Ryan nodded, pursing his lips. “Though if anyone crowds you, just say the word. We can be Draco’s Army for a change.”

That startled a laugh out of Draco, making Ryan beam at him. 

When they returned to the living room later, he caught Harry staring at him with an expression of longing. Before he could decipher the meaning of the look Harry was giving him, though, he was already looking away, quickly engaging in a conversation with Neville. 

August took its course and Draco was starting to pack his trunk for Hogwarts. It felt weird, fitting his life back into a school trunk after a year of break. He cleared out everything that had been stored in there since the end of sixth year, trying to reconcile the boy he had been back then with the man he was now and finding he couldn’t. It made him stare at the leftover junk making up a life he used to have, wondering what had become of him and if he could ever go back to how he had been. He had liked himself better before. 

Then, the small chest Hagrid had once gifted him to keep his belongings safe from Nott and his minions fell into his hands. He stared at it for a moment, remembering the battle, when he had last seen Nott and Goyle, and how Crabbe had been left behind in that fire. It felt strange, holding that visible proof of Nott’s bullying nature in his hands knowing how things had ended between them. 

He knew that, even if Nott returned to Hogwarts, he’d never have to fear him again. Lines had been crossed that would have made even Nott back down for good.

With a sigh, Draco opened the chest, looking at what he’d locked inside. There were a couple of stray parchments, letters and homework, as well as a watch and a miniature dragon his mother had given him as a child - such tiny things eleven- to sixteen-year-old Draco had considered worth hiding that now seemed trivial at best. 

He went through the parchments, making sure there was nothing of importance stacked between them. A potion’s essay he never got to hand in after the debacle with the Chamber of Secrets. He thought of Snape, feeling slightly sick. A letter from his mother, sent in March of his first year. A letter from Viktor shortly after the beginning of his fifth. One from Remus sent in his fourth year throughout the Triwizard Tournament. He went through all of the parchments, throwing one after the other out, before he halted, the last parchment in hand. 

This particular one was older than the rest and slightly singed. The handwriting was strange yet horribly familiar. Draco stared with dawning horror at the words. 

_ Draco, _

_ This will be hard to believe, but I am writing to you from the future. I fixed the fireplace (or better, you will, seven years ahead), and if I succeeded, this message will reach you in the year 1991, at age eleven, shortly before you start at Hogwarts. _

Draco’s hands were shaking and white dots appeared in his vision, making him unable to read on. Draco closed his eyes and forced himself to take long, even breaths, but the air wouldn’t come.

He had forgotten about this. 

No, that wasn’t true.

He hadn’t wanted to remember.

There were footsteps in the hallway, and Draco tore his eyes open in wild panic. He stuffed the letter into his robe pocket and threw the chest shut with a resounding sound. He whirled around to find Harry appearing in the doorway, already talking.

“Draco, Molly flooed, she asked if we wanted to - what’s wrong?”

Harry immediately focused as his eyes fell onto Draco, concern overtaking his features. Draco wondered what he looked like. He felt ready to faint.

“Nothing,” Draco muttered feebly.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Harry hissed. “You’re white as a sheet.”

“I just -” Draco scrambled. His eyes fell onto the box. “I just remembered the battle, you know. Crabbe. Snape. The memories were a bit… much.”

Harry’s face softened. He sat down next to Draco on the floor and rested his hand on Draco’s knee. 

“I understand,” he breathed. “It’s not going to be easy, going back to Hogwarts after everything that happened.”

“No,” Draco breathed, trying to reign in his breathing and his racing heart. If Harry found out that he was lying, what he was truly hiding -

“It’s alright to get overwhelmed,” Harry murmured, squeezing his knee and reaching out with his other hand to push his hair back from his face, tucking a few strands behind his ear. “We all do. Lean on me if it happens. We were there together. I know what it was like.”

And then, Harry pulled him into a gentle embrace, protective and perfect, and Draco couldn’t breathe because he could still feel the letter in his robe pocket, practically burning a hole through the fabric with his guilt. He wished Harry wasn’t being so nice to him. It made the feeling of being an impostor so much worse.

Harry pulled away to look at him. There was worry in his eyes. He could probably feel his ragged breathing or the way his heart hammered against his ribcage from the way he’d been holding Draco. 

“Let’s go sit out on the terrace,” Harry suggested. “The sun is out. It’s nice.”

“But I was just -” Draco muttered, looking at the contents of his school trunk strewn all around their bedroom floor.

“It can wait,” Harry said decisively. “You need a break.”

“Okay,” Draco breathed. “But I need to clean this up first. You go ahead and I’ll -”

“ _ Draco, _ ” Harry smiled, rolling his eyes. “Are you a wizard or what?” And then, he drew out his wand and waved it. His trunk packed itself and slid back into their walk-in closet, the door falling closed behind it.

“Oh,” Draco muttered, gulping. “Right.”

He somehow made it through the day with Harry by his side, though it was all a blur to Draco, honestly. His mind was caught in a daze, and though he tried hard not to think about the letter, its physical presence in Draco’s pocket was impossible to ignore. He tried not to let his inner turmoil show to Harry, but he could tell that Harry noticed. He was just grateful that the other man thought that Draco was simply shaken from war flashbacks. 

When Harry started cleaning the vegetables for dinner, Draco excused himself to the bathroom. Feeling safe behind the locked door, he drew out the letter again, reading over it back to front. 

His eyes hung on the date next to the signature. August 15th, 1998. The letter had been sent  _ today _ , in another timeline. 

Was this a mere coincidence, for Draco to find the letter again on the exact day it had originally been sent? Really, though, even if it wasn’t, it was not like he could do anything about the letter now. It had been sent from a universe that, most likely, had been made void through his very actions. 

Right? 

He stuffed the letter back into his pocket and joined Harry in the kitchen. He faked his way through the evening. He let Harry hold him as they watched some Muggle show till it was dark out, and he rested his head against Harry’s shoulder as the other man drifted off to sleep.

Sleep was elusive to Draco, though. His mind was racing. 

Eventually, he carefully extricated himself from Harry, managing to get up without waking him. He pulled the letter from his robe pocket, grabbed his wand from the nightstand and walked out, quietly closing the door behind him before making his way downstairs and turning on one of the candles on the couch table. He sat to read over the letter again.

When had he woken in front of that fireplace again the day he had received the letter at age eleven? Sometime at night?

He checked the clock. It was almost half-past two. 

With a sudden determination, he stood. Grasping the letter and his wand, he pictured his childhood home in front of his mind. 

He hadn’t ever wanted to return to Malfoy Manor again, but drastic situations called for drastic measures, he decided. He’d be in and out.

His aim was impeccable, and the wards let him in without resistance. Draco belatedly realised that he was lucky. His parents must have reset the wards recently. He wondered if they were home, sleeping in their chambers, or if they were still in his mother’s safe house. Draco didn’t really care, though. He wasn’t going to run into them. 

All he needed was this room, with the old, broken fireplace. 

Draco scanned it, feeling ridiculous, standing there, barefoot, pyjama-clad and with tousled hair, apparating across the country to look at a broken magical object. This had been a horrible idea, he realised. What had he thought would happen? Another letter would appear and Draco’s guilt would magically dissolve into thin air?

Draco twitched when the ancient clock above the fireplace gonged once.

Then, there was a sound from the fireplace. Draco froze, staring as blue flames rose from it, tainting the room in an eerie light. 

Then, someone gasped behind him, and Draco whirled around to stare…

He was looking at himself.

Wide, grey eyes were staring back at him, a familiar mouth hanging open as his own face stared back at Draco. His hair was shorter, cleanly trimmed; more proper, if you asked his father. The Draco in front of him was wearing expensive black silk pyjamas and there were slippers on his feet. 

“It worked,” the other Draco whispered, blinking. “Salazar. It really worked.”

Draco felt like he couldn’t breathe. This had been a mistake. What was he doing? He didn’t want this.

“Did you do it?” the other Draco asked. “Did you change things?”

“I -” Draco had no words. How did he answer this? 

“Are you friends with him?” the other Draco asked, taking a step towards him. His eyes were bright. “Did you fight on his side?”

“Yes,” Draco breathed. 

“What about Mother and Father?” he continued. “Did they survive?”

“Yes,” Draco repeated. 

The other Draco laughed. There were tears in his eyes - tears of relief and joy, Draco thought, though maybe, that wasn’t all. “I knew it would work,” he muttered, almost to himself. “That was where I went wrong. That was what changed everything.” He looked at Draco again, and this time, he seemed more hesitant. “What is it like?” he asked. “To be his friend?”

Draco blinked. How was he supposed to answer this? He balled his hand into a fist and his eyes fell onto his engagement ring. Finally, he lifted up his hand for the other Draco to see.

“We aren’t just friends,” he breathed. 

A deafening silence followed.

“Merlin,” the other Draco mumbled. He was looking at the ring as if he was having a revelation. He laughed again, and the tears were back. He blinked desperately to keep them at bay. “Figures,” he muttered. “So we love him, huh?”

The casual usage of the word ‘we’ hit Draco hard. His voice was shaking hard when he said: “I don’t know about you. But I do.”

“You  _ are _ me,” the other Draco rolled his eyes. 

_ No, I’m not _ , Draco wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to. 

He watched as the other Draco took a deep breath of air before catching his eyes. He seemed nervous as he took another step towards him, now entering Draco’s personal space. Draco had nowhere to back off to if he didn’t want to stumble into the flames. 

The other Draco raised his palm, asking: “May I…?”

Draco didn’t know what he was asking, but he instinctively raised his own palm, copying his doppelgänger. And then, the other Draco touched their fingertips together.

It was like an avalanche of memories had been set upon Draco, but the memories weren’t his. Draco was drowning in image after image - people being killed on their dinner table at Malfoy Manor, right in front of their eyes. Draco and Harry duelling in a bathroom, and Harry throwing a curse that left him cut open and bleeding on the damp floor. Hermione slapping him, her eyes full of hatred. Draco insulting Weasley’s family, causing Harry to come after him. Him taking the Dark Mark. Him standing on the Astronomy Tower, wand trained upon Dumbledore. Draco wanted to scream, but the images didn’t stop. It showed him picture after picture of a life he should have had, of the despicable person he really was. 

When finally, the flood ceased, he stood there trembling, feeling like he was going to throw up. The other Draco, though, was smiling. He looked at Draco, and one of his tears spilt over.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Then, the flames behind Draco dimmed, and suddenly, the other Draco was gone.

Draco stood there, staring at the place he had been for a long, long time. 

When he finally returned home, barely an hour had passed. He hadn’t expected his absence to have been noticed. But when he apparated, the lights in the living room were turned on, and Harry was pacing the length of the room. 

He whirled around to face Draco, eyes bright and wild. “Where were you?!” he demanded.

“I -” Draco started, but he didn’t know how to continue. He just stared at Harry, helplessly caught off-guard.

“You can’t just disappear in the middle of the night, Draco!” Harry yelled. Draco hadn’t seen him this furious in a long time. He had been so calm and patient with Draco ever since the war. “Do you know what it felt like when I woke up and you were gone?! The house empty, no note - you simply vanished! You know how much I'm struggling! How could you do this?!”

“I - I’m sorry,” Draco stuttered. “I didn’t think you’d notice, I just -”

“What wasn’t I supposed to notice?!” Harry called. “What are you keeping from me?!”

“Nothing,” Draco said feebly.

“Bullshit!” Harry shouted. “You’re keeping something from me, and I want to know what it is, now!”

“I’m not -” Draco began, but Harry cut him off.

“Stop lying!” he snapped. “I’ve been patient enough! I’ve tried so hard to fix this thing between us, but if you’re keeping secrets from me now -”

“What are you saying?” Draco whispered, feeling cold all over.

“I don’t know!” Harry called. “But I can’t have you lying to me, Draco! I can’t stand it! So either you tell me what’s going on or I -” he took a shaky breath, running his hand through his hair, “I don’t know. I think I have to leave.”

Draco shook his head, staring at him with wide eyes. “No,” he whispered. “No, Harry. Please -”

“Just tell me what’s going on, damnit!” Harry cut through his pleading. 

Draco’s vision blurred with tears. This time, he didn’t have the energy to try and stop them.

“You will hate me,” Draco whispered, and his voice was so small and broken that it would have alarmed him if he’d had any presence of mind to notice.

Harry stared at him for a long moment. Then, he seemed to brace himself and asked: “Are you cheating on me?” 

“What?” Draco blinked, staring at him uncomprehendingly. “No! Never!”

“Are you doing anything immoral or illegal behind my back?” he continued. When Draco shook his head once more, Harry burst out: “Then why should I hate you?! I love you, so much that I’m pretty sure I’d even find a way to forgive you if you had been out there burying the bloody body tonight! So just tell me already! Nothing can be that bad!”

“You have no idea,” Draco sobbed. 

He knew, though, that he had no choice. This was it. If he didn’t fess up, he was going to lose Harry.

But if he told him the truth, he was definitely going to lose him. 

It was an impossible situation. And yet, Draco knew there was no way out but through.

Hesitantly, he pulled out the letter and held it out to Harry. He frowned at Draco. 

“What is this?” he demanded.

“Just… take it and read it,” Draco muttered.

With an impatient sigh, Harry pulled the parchment from his hand, unrolled it and scanned its contents. With every word he read, though, his frown deepened. Finally, he muttered: “What exactly am I reading, Draco? I don’t understand.”

Draco sucked in a breath. Then, he offered: “I received this letter on your eleventh birthday, Harry. The day we met.”

Harry stared at him, still waiting.

“In Malfoy Manor, there is this fireplace that sort of works like a floo… Only it was supposed to transport someone back in time. It’s been broken for centuries, and apparently, the other Draco repaired it.”

“The  _ ‘other’ _ Draco?” Harry repeated, blinking.

“Yes,” Draco nodded, gulping. “Things in his timeline didn’t go his way, and he became scared of the consequences, so he fixed the fireplace, thinking he might be able to change the past. He sent a letter to me - his past self - and asked me to fix his mistakes. That’s the letter.”

“I still don’t understand,” Harry whispered.

“He thought that, if only we’d be friends and I ended up on your side of the war, things would end up better for our family,” Draco muttered. “So he told me to befriend you. But when I met you, things changed, Harry.” Draco expected Harry to interrupt. When he didn’t, he continued: “I met you, and I honestly liked you. I  _ wanted _ to be your friend. And then suddenly, it wasn’t about changing the future anymore - it was about  _ you.  _ But I couldn’t let you know, because if you knew what kind of person I really was, I knew you’d hate me.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Harry breathed.

“The other Draco… you hated him, Harry,” Draco shook his head, and fresh tears ran down his face. “And you were right to. I was horrible. I said horrible things to you, Hermione and Weasley. And others, too. Everyone. I  _ did  _ horrible things. I became a Death Eater. I took the mark. I tortured people, I - I was  _ Nott _ , Harry.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment. Draco wrapped his arms around himself, trying to take up as little space as possible. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I lied to you. I befriended you under false pretence. I’m not worthy of -”

“Draco,” Harry shook his head. “Stop.”

Draco closed his eyes, awaiting Harry’s judgement. He was surprised when Harry crossed the distance between them in three quick steps, placing a gentle hand on his jaw. His eyes flew open again to meet Harry’s.

“I don’t care,” Harry breathed. “You’re not that person.”

Draco blinked. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Draco asked, his voice high.

“Every word,” Harry said, rather calmly. “And it explains so much. About your behaviour and your complexes. Why you seem to think you’re never good enough. It’s the missing puzzle piece. But I want you to listen to me, Draco. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” Draco whispered.

“I don’t care what kind of person the Draco that sent the letter was,” Harry told him. “I’ve never met him, and I never will. He’s not  _ you _ . And I know who you are, Draco, even if you seem to have forgotten.”

“You don’t understand,” Draco shook his head, tears running down his cheeks. “I  _ am _ him. I would have turned out just like him if not for you. I just made different choices because I wanted to keep you in my life.”

“Yes,” Harry nodded, bringing his other hand up to hold Draco’s face in both palms. “ _ Exactly, Draco!  _ You  _ chose _ to be different, so you  _ are _ different! Dumbledore told me that it’s our choices that determine who we truly are. I wasn’t evil just because I had a Horcrux inside of me all these years, and you’re not evil just because you had the potential to be, either. We all have the potential, Draco. You chose the right path. You chose to be good.”

“But that choice was made because I’m a selfish person!” Draco called, pulling away from him. “I wanted to survive! I wanted _you_! And because of that, I pushed other people into harm’s way!”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, balling his fist to keep from reaching out for Draco.

“Nott became a Death Eater because I didn’t!” Draco called. “It was my fault!”

“Nott could have said no!” Harry pointed out.

“No, he couldn’t have!” Draco shook his head. “They threatened his family! He had no choice!”

“Yes, he did!” Harry argued. “Like you, he could have chosen to change sides early on! You made an example he could have followed!”

“It doesn’t work that way, Harry,” Draco shook his head. 

“Of course it does!” Harry called. “Believe me, as someone who is trying to put the blame for everything in the world onto his own shoulders and is currently in therapy for it, I can see what you’re doing here, and I’m not going to let you! Nott is his own person! You’re not responsible for his decisions!”

“What about everyone else, then?!” Draco called, feeling frantic now. “I just - squeezed myself into your life, when I didn’t even belong there! I took up space others should have occupied! You’re supposed to be with Ginny, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Excuse me?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

“The other Draco - he shared his memories with me,” Draco explained. “And I saw it! You love Ginny! You two were happy together, and I took that away from you!”

“Okay, stop!” Harry shook his head, glaring at him. “I don’t care what the other Harry wanted or felt, but I love  _ you,  _ and Ginny and I are both better off as friends. Ginny and Ryan are a brilliant fit, and I happen to have found the love of my life somewhere else. I don’t care if it was  _ supposed _ to happen differently! I can’t imagine being happier with Ginny than with you, or loving her as much as I love you! In no universe would I ever love anyone as much as you, do you hear me?!”

“How would you even know that?” Draco demanded. “Maybe I just made you think -”

“You don’t have me under Imperius, Draco!” Harry called. “And I haven’t swallowed Amortentia! I fell in love with you for  _ you _ , and you couldn’t have made that happen if you tried. It just did. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Draco blinked hard against the fresh wave of tears. Harry took a tentative step towards him. 

“Draco,” he whispered. “Please. Believe me. I don’t care what happened in that other timeline, or what was supposed to have happened. I only care about this life, and us.”

“But what kind of purpose do I even have in this timeline?!” Draco burst out, looking at Harry. “I saw the other Draco’s memories, and you know what I realised? The only thing that changed was my position in the war, Harry. Nothing else. Everything else happened exactly the same way. I couldn’t stop a thing. I couldn’t stop Sirius’ death, or Dumbledore’s, or you walking into that Forest -”

“Draco, stop!” Harry called, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. 

“No!” Draco shook his head. “My presence is supposed to have some kind of purpose, right? Something that justifies the other Draco’s meddling? But if I couldn’t even change anything, then what am I doing here?”

“I don’t think it was in your power to change any of these events in the first place,” Harry said, loud and clear. “Maybe, they were supposed to happen that way, no matter what.”

“But then  _ why _ , Harry?” I demanded. 

“Do you need a reason?” Harry asked. “I don’t know, Draco. I don’t know this other timeline. I can’t tell you what exactly changed. Maybe it was little things. Maybe you made a difference to individual lives, like mine or Hermione’s, or your housemates. Honestly, I don’t think it works that way, though. I don’t think you need a justification for the life you lived. You didn’t choose to start over. The other Draco chose for you, and he gave you the right tools to do it. Maybe, instead of feeling guilty, just be thankful. I know I am because I am grateful to have you in my life, Draco. I can’t imagine it without you.”

Draco stared at Harry. He was still trembling and his eyes were still swimming with tears, but with Harry’s words, something inside of him seemed to settle. The whirlwind of his emotions simmered down enough to allow rational thought to take root again. 

“You don’t think I have reason to feel guilty?” Draco asked, his eyes hanging onto Harry’s.

“No,” Harry emphasised. “You made good choices, Draco. You are a good person. You have no responsibility for anyone else’s decisions, be it the other Draco’s, Nott’s or whoever's.”

Draco took in a shaky breath. Harry raised his hand to Draco’s cheek again.

“I love you,” he repeated.  _ “You.  _ I love that eleven-year-old boy who first spoke to me at Madam Malkin’s, and then again on the Hogwarts Express. I love that smart, snarky and sensitive boy who worked so hard on our friendship and who has been loyal to me to the end, more than anyone I have ever met. I love that wonderful, complex man who has been through so much hardship and still never stopped fighting. I love you, Draco Malfoy, and I’ll never stop loving you, as long as I live.”

Draco sobbed, and he allowed himself to step into Harry’s body, letting the other man envelop him in a tight, protective embrace.

“I love you so much,” Draco whimpered. “I always have. I was so afraid you would -”

“I’m sorry,” Harry breathed, turning his face to kiss Draco’s temple. “I understand now. But I promise I won’t change my mind about you, no matter what.”

Draco sagged against him, bringing his own arms around Harry’s waist and clinging on. Harry held him as he cried, like the steady, warm presence he had always been. 

When Draco opened his eyes the next morning, he was in their bed, safely tugged against Harry’s chest. Sunlight was filtering in through the closed curtains and Harry’s thumb was absentmindedly drawing little half-circles onto his shoulder blade, tipping Draco off that he, too, was conscious. Draco shifted until he was able to blink up at Harry, still feeling bleary and fuzzy, but Harry’s smile was fond when their eyes met. He was already wearing his glasses. 

“Hey,” he breathed, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his lips. Draco leaned in to make it last longer, and Harry grinned against his lips. 

“How long until you have to go to work?” Draco asked, his voice still raw from sleep.

“I sent Hedwig in to ask for a personal day,” Harry admitted. “After last night, I thought we needed this day for ourselves, and Kingsley said that after the war, we were all entitled to take personal days whenever we needed them, so he won’t mind.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded. His eyes scanned Harry’s face and the events of last night hit him.

Harry knew. 

And he was still with him.

Draco leaned in to kiss him again, this time with more intent. Harry tightened his arms around him and pulled him against his chest, melting into the kiss. 

***e***

Despite the walls that had separated them since the war, they’d had a lot of sex in the last few weeks, ever since they’d moved in together. Draco figured that maybe, this had been their way of communicating when all words had failed them - words had been useless as expressions of love, since they never seemed to reach, but touches always hit their marks, if only for the moment. 

Draco shivered when Harry’s hands found his way under his pyjama top, running them up his back as he kissed him. Draco pulled away, his own fingers going for the hem of Harry’s shirt. They sat up, Harry raising his hands to allow Draco to remove it before clumsy fingers went for the buttons of Draco’s top. 

The rest of their clothes went, too, until they were skin to skin, and Harry fell back onto the mattress, bringing Draco down on top of him. They spent a few long minutes like this, just kissing and exploring each other with their hands. Draco shifted until his erection aligned with Harry’s, rocking his hips rhythmically against the other man’s. Harry moaned, pulling away from Draco’s lips to look up at him.

“Draco,” he whispered. “I want -”

“I know,” Draco smiled. “We’ll get there.”

“No,” Harry shook his head, gulping. His hand tightened on Draco’s bicep before he continued: “I want you inside of me.”

Draco blinked. They hadn’t done that before. Harry had only ever taken him. Draco hadn’t been aware that this was something Harry wanted. 

“Are you sure?” Draco checked.

“More than sure,” Harry nodded. “I wanted to ask for a while, but I didn’t want to rock the boat. Things haven’t been easy, and I thought maybe this would put additional pressure on you. But now I just want you to know that I trust you completely, with all of me.”

Draco stared at him for a long moment, making Harry smile at him gently, encouragingly. 

“Draco,” he whispered, lacing his fingers through Draco’s hair and lowering his head until his lips met Harry’s. “I love you. I’m already yours. There’s no need to be afraid of anything.”

Slowly, Draco nodded. They continued kissing, quickly falling back into their earlier passionate pace. They separated only enough for Draco to kiss down Harry’s body, lips, tongue and teeth taking their time to explore the familiar territory anew, making Harry shiver and goosebumps break out over his summer-tanned skin. Harry’s fingers tangled in the discarded sheets next to them. Draco could tell that he was struggling with the concept of giving up control, even to Draco. Usually, it was he who was the more dominant one in bed. 

Draco, too, felt a bit vulnerable in his new role, but there was also a sense of excitement to this. The knowledge that Harry was giving himself up to Draco, was trusting him enough to do whatever he pleased - it was empowering in a way Draco hadn’t felt before. 

When Draco’s lips closed around Harry’s prick, the noises he made were intoxicating. He was tempted to bring Harry to orgasm just like this, but he knew that the aim was a different one, so he kept his ministrations teasing, his pace unhurried, a mere distraction from the way his lubed fingers stretched him. 

Draco took his time preparing Harry. He was extremely tight and it took a while for his muscles to relax enough to even add a second finger, not to mention a third. Draco knew he could have used magic to make it all easier on the two of them, but he wanted to work for this experience and have it happen organically. 

Harry had put his trust in him. He wanted to show him that he was worthy of it. 

When the tips of Draco’s fingers grazed Harry’s prostate, Harry jerked violently, causing him to push his erection so far down Draco’s throat that it almost made him gag. He controlled the reflex, though, and he reigned Harry’s hips in with a firm hand on his hip bone as he purposefully circled the bundle of nerves with his fingers.

“Draco,” Harry moaned, trying to thrash without any success. “Please…”

Draco pulled off Harry’s prick, keeping his hand there to fondle him lazily while looking up at him. Harry was panting heavily, and his face and chest were flushed a dark red. His eyes were intense, his expression desperate. 

“I’m ready,” he stressed.

“Are you sure?” Draco frowned. He moved his fingers again, trying to make sure, and Harry groaned, throwing his head back against the pillow. 

“Yes, I am sure!” he ground out. “You’re going to bloody murder me if you keep this up any longer!”

“Fine,” Draco smiled as he drew out his fingers, but not without purposefully grazing Harry’s prostate on the way out, making Harry jerk. “Just making sure.”

"You're such an arse," Harry groaned. "Why am I marrying a Slytherin again?"

"Beats me," Draco grinned, ravelling in their easy banter. It had been ages since things had felt so... natural with Harry.

He grabbed his wand to lube himself up and use protective charms before placing it back on the nightstand. Then he positioned himself back between Harry’s legs. They locked eyes, and Draco leaned in to kiss him, gentle and unhurried. 

“I’ll go slow,” he whispered against Harry’s lips. “Tell me when you need me to stop.”

“As if,” Harry grumbled, making Draco chuckle and shake his head. 

“You are adorable like this,” he pointed out.

“And you are a tease,” Harry rolled his eyes, but he broke into a smile, too. “Now do I have to politely request you to fuck me?”

“It can’t hurt,” Draco shrugged, but the tip of his erection was already nudging Harry’s entrance, making the other man’s breath hitch. 

Draco’s eyes were on Harry’s the entire time he pushed into his body. He went ever so slowly, itching in a bit and then stopping, waiting for Harry to relax before trying again. He was so focused on his task that the whole extent of the sensations he was experiencing didn’t come crashing down on him until he had bottomed down, but then, all he could feel was the heat and tightness of Harry’s body, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment to reign himself in.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You didn’t warn me what this felt like.”

“You didn’t warn me, either,” Harry muttered.

That made Draco’s eyes shoot open. “Are you hurting?” he asked in a rush.

“No,” Harry rolled his eyes, and his hands came to bracket Draco’s face in their hold. “I meant to say that you feel bloody  _ amazing _ . Stop overthinking everything.”

Draco took a deep breath and nodded. Harry leaned up to kiss him. It changed the angle a bit, making Draco moan into the kiss. 

“Move,” Harry breathed.

And Draco did. He thrust into Harry like he wanted to climb into him, trying to get closer and closer and closer, all but melting into him. Harry clung to him, clutching his shoulder, back and hair alternately, so responsive that it only added to everything Draco was feeling. 

His feelings for the other man seemed to be bubbling out of him as he moved inside his body. “I love you,” he mouthed against his throat. “Harry -”

“I love you, too,” Harry replied, not missing a beat. His arms tightened around Draco’s shoulders and he shivered. “Oh, Draco -”

And then, he came, without Draco even touching his prick. Draco couldn’t help but stare as Harry threw his head back in complete abandon, giving himself over to the pleasure - to Draco - but then, his channel tightened around Draco, and it took only one, two more thrusts before Draco followed him over the brink. 

Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms, sweaty and boneless, Harry’s release sticky between them. Harry refused to let go of Draco for him to grab his wand, though, and Draco decided he didn’t really mind; not yet, anyway, when he could hear Harry’s heartbeat slow down against his ear. 

“That was perfect,” Harry whispered, after a while, making Draco smile. 

“It was,” he agreed.

***/e/***

“I feel like I finally have you back,” Harry continued, and his voice was suddenly tight.

“You never lost me,” Draco pointed out.

“But you seemed far away,” Harry shook his head, turning his head to burrow his nose into Draco’s hair. “I’m so glad you finally talked to me.” 

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Draco breathed.

“I understand why,” Harry said. “I just hope you know now that you can trust me, no matter what.”

“I think I’m starting to understand that,” Draco nodded. “I - I don’t think I can change overnight, Harry. The issues I’ve been dealing with before - the PTSD, the depression… That’s not gone.”

“I know that,” Harry assured him. “Mine isn’t, either. That’s not how it works. We’ll always have bad days, Draco. I just… want us to be able to talk to each other, and lean on each other. I want to be certain that, no matter what, at the end of the day, we’ll be there for each other. And I think that now, we had a breakthrough that got us there.”

“I agree,” Draco nodded, turning his head to smile at him. Harry smiled back and reached out to stroke his hair back from his forehead. 

“I’m afraid of being separated from you for a year,” Harry admitted, his smile vanishing. 

Draco leaned up to kiss him again. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I don’t like it, either. But we can do it, Harry. Especially now. We have the parchments, we can talk every day, all the time. We can see each other on Hogsmeade weekends and holidays. And if need is dire, I’m sure Professor McGonagall will agree to let us make private floo calls. She knows things are difficult after the war, and she already arranged for me to have regular sessions with Healer Jones at the school. I think she is very dedicated to making this post-war school year as easy as possible on us.”

Harry nodded and leaned in to kiss Draco again, gentle and lingering. 

“When you graduate,” he asked, pulling away again to look at Draco, “do you think you’d be ready for a wedding?”

Draco smiled at Harry, reaching out to catch a stray black curl and twist it around his finger.

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “I think I might be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who skipped the Sex Scene: Harry and Draco flipped their usual dynamics in bed, causing Harry to show how much he trusted Draco. Their usual banter returned and Draco started to feel more natural around Harry again. 
> 
> So, that leaves only the Epilogue, which you can expect in two weeks time, as always! It will be set 8 months after this chapter. Also, I will give you some more details on future content for this series next week :)


End file.
